
COLERIDGE 



The Vision of Sir Launfal 





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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



Facile credo, plures esse Natiiras invisibiles qnam visibiles in rerum 
universitate. Sed horum omnium familiam quis nobis enarrabit, et 
gradiis et cognationes et discrimina et singulorum mimera ? Quid 
agunt ? quae loca habitant? Harum rerum notitiam semper ambivit 
ingenium humanum, numquara attigit. Juvat, interea, non diffiteor, 
quandoque in animo, tamquam in tabula, majoris et melioris mundi 
imaginem contemplari : ne mens assuefacta hodiernae vitae minutiis 
se contrahat nimis, et tota subsidat in pusillas cogitationes. Sed 
veritati interea invigilandura est, modusque servandus, ut certa ab 
incertis, diem a nocte, distinguamus. 

T. Burnet, Archceol. Phil., p. 68. 



Translation. 

I can readily believe that there are in the universe more Natures 
unseen than seen. But who shall explain to us their relation, their 
several ranks and degrees of consanguinity, their differences and their 
functions? What do they do? Where do they t ell? Man's skill has 
ever sought, but never attained, a knowledge of these things I cannot 
deny, however, that it is profitable at times to allow the mind to dwell 
on the contemplation of a larger and better world, as if seen on a map ; 
otherwise, accustomed as the mind is to the petty details of a daily 
routine, it may become depressed and sink utterly into trifling thoughts. 
Still a strict regard must be had for the truth, and moderation is to be 
observed that we may distinguish the definite and the doubtful between 
the day and the night. 



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SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



STANDARD LITERATURE SERIES 

THE EIME OF 

THE ANCIENT MARINER 

BY 

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 

AND 

THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 

BY 

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 



EDITED WITH NOTES AND INTRODUCTION BY 

H. G. PAUL, A.M. 

ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OP ENGLISH LITEUATURE IN THE UNIVERSITY OP ILLINOIS 

WITH EDITORIAL SUPERVISION BY 

EDWARD EVERETT HALE, Jr., Ph.D. 

PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH, UNION COLLEGE 



UNIVERSITY PUBLISHING COMPANY 

NEW YORK •:■ BOSTON •:• NEW ORLEANS 



1966 Cc_ 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 

Two CoDies Received 

APh 16 1906 

Copyright Entry 
CLASS dy XXc. No, 

/V3 2.3 3 

COPY B. 



Copyright, 1906, by 
UNIVERSITY PUBLISHING COMPANY 

*** 2909 



CONTENTS 



EDITORIAL NOTE 
INTRODUCTION 

Life of Coleridge 

Life of Lowell . 

The Romantic Movement 

The Ancient Mariner 

The Composition of the Poem 

The Ancient 3Iariner a Literary Ballad 

Suggestions for Teaching and Study 

The Metrical Form 

Questions for General Study and Review 

Bibliography 

The Vision of Sir Launfal 

Suggestions for Teaching and Study 
Questions for General Study and Revieio 

THE ANCIENT MARINER 

THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL . 



Page 
V 

ix 
ix 

xviii 
xxii 

xxvi 

xxvi 
xxviii 
xxviii 
. xxxi 
xxxiii 
xxxiv 

xxxvi 
xxxvii 
xxxix 

1 

. 35 



EDITORIAL NOTE 

" The Ancient Mariner " and " The Vision of Sir 
Launfal " have for some time been among the books recom- 
mended for reading in the secondary schools. The two poems 
may well be studied together. They have things about them 
that are alike, and things that are different, and therefore may 
readily be compared so as to cultivate the literary taste by 
a definite, systematic method. This is, of course, not the only 
way of cultivating the taste ; in fact it is not the best way from 
a purely general standpoint. The best way to cultivate one's 
literary taste is, probably, to l)e much with people who love 
literature and to read much of the best literature one's self. 
lUit where one cannot do tbat, as in the class-room, the other 
plan, the plan of carefully cultivating the ta.ste by some 
definite method, seems to promise most. One well-understood 
method is that of comparison. By a careful comparison of 
two or more masterpieces, we may succeed in determining their 
essential characteristics, and having determined them, we 
shall be able to recognize them again when we meet them, and 
perhaps to feel their essential quality. 

If we put these poems together and ask. How are they alike 
and how do they differ ? we shall observe several things. 

In respect to substance each of the two poems has a story 
and an idea; and in each the story is a romantic one, some- 
thing that stirs our sense of wonder and beauty, and the idea 
one of deep moral significance, one that aims to get beneath 
the thoughts of everyday intercourse into the springs and 
secrets of life itself. Look a little into each. 

The story of the young knight who went out in golden 



VI EDITORIAL NOTE 

armor to seek for the Holy Grail, and returned broken with 
years and troubles to find at his own castle gate what he had 
sought so long, is such a tale as one might find in the medi- 
geval romances of King Arthur. The story of the sailor who 
brought a curse upon himself and his shipmates by killing a 
bird that had sought refuge on their ship, and who expiates 
that wrong by a strange and bitter experience, is an imagina- 
tive creation very different. Yet different as the stories are, 
they seem alike when we compare them with the story of Sir 
Roger de Coverley or the Vicar of Wakefield. These last 
are figures of the real world, though not of the world we 
know; the others are figures of romance.^ 

The two ideas are also of the same character. The concep- 
tion of heartfelt love as the true spirit of the Saviour of the 
world, and the conception of an all-embracing love as the true 
prayer, the true approach to God, are both ideas for the guid- 
ance of the practical life, and both are ideas that dip beneath 
the surface of life and get something that does not appear to 
every-day view. 

The precise connection of story and idea is one of the most 
difficult subjects for literary study. If one thinks of the story 
only as a means of conveying thought, one must lose much. 
So also if one thinks of the story only, without any idea at all. 
In each case, probably, the idea was one often in the poet's 
mind. With Lowell this was certainly the case;^ with 
Coleridge we cannot be so sure, although the idea has much in 
common with the poet's early thinking and with many thoughts 
of the time. It seems probable that in " Sir Launf al " the 
idea was really the moulding force, while with " The Ancient 
Mariner " it was less influential. Still in neither case is it 
the bare idea that has made the poem. In each the poetic 
imagination has given the idea a form which for the time 

1 For further comment on the romantic movement, see p. xxii. 

2 Compare " A Parable " noted on p. xxxviii and " The Search " printed on p. 49. 



EDITORIAL NOTE vii 

seems all-important. After the time of reading, when the 
original interest is less strongly in mind, one thinks of the 
idea which then perhaps takes something of a place by itself 
in our thoughts. 

As to the literary form of the poems there is more differ- 
ence. Both are written under the influence of the so-called 
ballad movement. In " The Ancient Mariner " the ballad 
spirit is everywhere prominent, as is pointed out on p. xxviii. 
Its directness of narrative, its repetitions, its language, its 
metrical form, all are fully in the spirit of the ballads that 
Coleridge found in Percy's Reliques. Lowell was farther 
away in time from the original inspiration, and his poem, 
therefore, has less of the ballad spirit. The subject of a 
knightly quest is full of the spirit of old popular poetry, and 
there are a few archaic words and phrases, but otherwise it 
has but little of the ballad about it. " Sir Launf al," however, 
though lacking the ballad element, has much else : it has a 
rather elaborate structure, it has the more figured form of 
literary poetry, the rich description of nature which one never 
finds in ballads. It is full of imagination which expresses 
itself richly and freely, as in the passages on nature, rather 
than in the suggestive manner of the ballad. 

If we read these two poems together we shall see how they 
are alike and yet different. That will call our attention to 
certain things : the farther we go in such comparisons, the 
more correctly shall we make them, the more sure will be our 
appreciation of the true things of interest in the poem. For 
one of the great things in poetic appreciation is to feel keenly 
each thing for itself, as different from others. We do not 
want to confuse these two poems, to think that they are much 
the same sort of thing without separate individuality or char- 
acter, any more than we should want to confuse our friends 
and think it was all the same which of them was with us. 
We want to know each for itself. Yet all poetry has some 



Viii EDITORIAL NOTE 

conimon qualities, and each, kind of poetry has some common 
qualities, and we certainly want to know what these qualities 
are. Some 2>eople feel such things instinctively; even if we 
do not, it is a very good thing to try to get at them by com- 
parison. 

Edward E. Hale^ Jr. 



s 



INTEODUCTION 

THE LIFE OF COLERIDGE 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge was born on the 21st " of 
October, 1772, at the vicarage of Ottery St. Mary, in the 
county of Devonshire. His father, the vicar of the parish and 
the master of the Free Grammar School, was a visionary, 
eccentric man, well beloved by his people. By a rather aljun- 
dant use of quotations from the Hebrew he gained the un- 
bounded respect of many of his simple parishioners as using 
the language of the Holy Ghost. The poet's mother seems to 
have possessed some of the shrewdness her husband lacked. 
She was a plain woman, uneducated, a good housekeeper and 
manager, and possessed a great contempt for young ladies who 
played the harpsichord. Coleridge was a precocious child, and 
at three years of age he was sent to a dame's school. As the 
pet of his mother he gained the ill-will of his brother and his 
companions; he took little or no part in their sports and 
games, but gave himself over to his inordinate love of reading. 
He read all the children's books he could find as well as many 
beyond his age, lived in this land of imagination, and went 
about " cutting down weeds and nettles, as one of the ^ Seven 
Champions of Christendom.' " ^ 

In his sixth year the boy was stricken with a fever; and 
we may, perhaps, see something of the thought of the Ancient 
Mariner in his belief that four angels guarded the bed on 
which he lay, and that they kept away the armies of ugly 
things that were ready to burst in upon him. Another in- 
cident of this period should be mentioned. On one occasion, 

^ Biog. Supplement to "Biographia Literaria," 1847. II, 330, 



X INTRODUCTION 

fearing a thoroughly merited punishment, he ran away from 
home. After wandering for several miles he fell asleep on the 
damp, cold bank of the river Otter. Here he was rescued the 
next morning by a neighbor, one of the searching party. It 
is doubtful whether Coleridge's system ever recovered from 
the exposure of that night. 

Coleridge's father died rather suddenly when the boy was 
about nine years of age ; and through the efforts of one of the 
pastor's old pupils. Sir Francis Buller, afterwards famous as 
a judge, the lad received a presentation to Christ's Hospital, 
a London charity school. The lot of the poet after he was 
enrolled among the blue-coated, yellow-stockinged, hatless 
students seems to have been anything but a happy one. The 
family, being proud, felt themselves disgraced by the boy's 
admission to a charity school. His brothers refused to permit 
him to visit them in the school garb, and Coleridge would not 
go in any other. " Oh, what a change," he wrote in after 
years to his friend, Thomas Poole, " from home to this city 
school; depressed, moping, friendless, a poor orphan, half 
starved." Charles Lamb, who as a student at Christ's Hos- 
pital during Coleridge's time became the life-long friend of 
the poet, has left us two pictures of the school in tAvo essays. 
Recollections of Christ's Hospital, and Christ's Hospital Five 
and Thirty Years Ago. One famous passage from the latter 
essay, a passage often quoted, may be cited here as perhaps 
the best picture we have of Coleridge in his youth : 

" Come back into memory, like as thou wert in the day- 
spring of thy fancies, with hope like a fiery column before 
thee — ^the dark pillar not yet turned — Samuel Taylor Col- 
eridge — Logician, Metaphysician, Bard! How have I seen 
the casual passer through the cloisters stand still, entranced 
with admiration (while he weighed the disproportion between 
the speech and the garh of the young ^Mirandula) to hear thee 
unfold, in thy deep and sweet intonations, the mysteries of 
Jamblicus or Plotinus (for even in those years thou waxedst 



THE LIFE OF COLERIDGE XI 

not pale at such pliilosopliic draughts), or reciting Homer in 
his Greek, or Pindar — while the walls of the old Gray Friars 
re-echoed with the accents of the inspired charity hoy/' 

On one occasion, when Coleridge was ahout thirteen, he 
went to a shoemaker and hegged to be taken as an apprentice. 
The shoemaker, Crispin by name, an honest fellow, took him 
to Boyer, then headmaster of the school, who got into a great 
rage, knocked down the boy, and pushed the shoemaker vio- 
lently out of the room. Upon the lad's declaring that he 
desired to learn the shoemaker's trade because he hated the 
thought of being a clergyman, and that he had become an 
infidel, Boyer administered to him a sound thrashing — the 
only just one, Coleridge afterwards remarked, he had ever 
received. 

The training Coleridge gained at Christ's Hospital was 
both severe and thorough. With all his faults Boyer was an 
admirable drillmaster; and Coleridge was chosen as one of 
the Grecians, that little band specially prepared under the 
severe master's own supervision for scholarships at the uni- 
versities. This master's labors did not end when he had trained 
the boys to be good Latin and Greek students — his most diffi- 
cult lessons were those in English ; and to his severe criticisms 
and repressions Coleridge was deeply indebted. About this 
time the young poet was attracted by the sonnets of Bowles, a 
writer long since forgotten. Bowles was by no means a great 
poet ; but he was a sincere one, and his sonnets show the influ- 
ence of the new forces active in the world of poetry. What 
little Coleridge had produced before this time bore the con- 
ventional marks of the eighteenth century. We have preserved 
several poems that he wrote in the Christ Hospital book, one 
of them an anthem for the children of the school — verses of 
little or no value except as specimens of his early handicraft. 
One poem. The Raven, written about the time he left Christ's 
Hospital, is interesting for the last two lines, in which we 
have in crude form the thought of the Ancient Mariner : 



xii INTRODUCTION 

" We must not think so; but forget and forgive, 
And what Heaven gives life to, we'll still let it live." 

In 1791, when Coleridge was nineteen years of age, he was 
appointed to an exhibition at Jesus College, Cambridge. 
Later in his course there he was further aided by certain fel- 
lowships. During the first portion of his residence he worked 
steadily and successfully, and gained the Browne gold medal 
for a sapphic Qde on the Slave Trade. One of Coleridge's 
college friends has left us an interesting account of how the 
poet's room became the rendezvous of a number of compan- 
ions, all eager to discuss the questions of the day, and how, 
when a new pamphlet appeared from the pen of Burke, Col- 
eridge would repeat for them whole pages verhatim. Stirring 
times were these, the earlier days of the French Eevolution, 
when new ideas of liberty and of the dawn of a better day 
were permeating the whole world, and when men felt that it 
was bliss even to be alive. Coleridge was one of the most 
radical of the many young men who gave their sympathy and 
their influence to what they conceived to be the cause of 
human liberty. The poet's enthusiasm, however, was tempo- 
rarily checked by his solicitude over some college debts and 
possibly over a love affair of the time. At any rate we find 
him drifting about in London, penniless and ready for what- 
ever might ofl'er. The recruiting office of the 15th Light 
Dragoons invites him, and he enlists under the name of Silas 
T. Comerback. A sorry soldier he made, not even able to 
jrroom his own horse. After two miserable months he dis- 
closed his whereabouts to his oldest brother, who secured his 
release and sent him back to the University. 

Upon his return to Cambridge, Coleridge was not satisfied. 
He fell off in his studies and left the University without tak- 
ing a degree. We soon find him enlisted with Eobert Southey, 
a young friend from Oxford, in an attempt to establish an 
idealistic colony. This community, which they called a Pan- 
tisocracy, was to consist of twelve men and their wives, and 



THE LIFE OF COLERIDGE xiii 

was to be established on the banks of the Susquehanna, reconi- 
jnended " for its excessive beauty and its security from hostile 
Indians and bisons." No one was to work very much — it was 
imagined that two hours a day of labor on the part of each 
man would be suihcient for their maintenance — and every one 
was to be supremely happy. Owing to a lack of funds neces- 
sary for its execution the project was finally abandoned; but 
not till Coleridge, in fulfilling one of the requisites of the 
society that each man should be accompanied by a wife, had 
become engaged to Sara Fricker and had married her. The 
wedding took place in October, 1795, in Bristol, at the old 
parish church of St. Mary Radcliffe, the church where Chat- 
terton had spent a large portion of his brief life. 

The young couple — Coleridge was but twenty-three at this 
time — -went to live in a tiny cottage on the outskirts of the 
village of Clivedon in Somersetshire; and we have left some 
beautiful lines about the tallest rose-tree which peeped in at 
the chamber window.^ Cottle, a Bristol publisher, had prom- 
ised the poet a guinea and a half for each hundred lines of 
verse; and with his usual optimism Coleridge thought that he 
would be abundantly al)le to supply all tlieir modest needs; 
but we soon find him resorting to various devices to keep the 
pot boiling. He undertook successively a number of plans, 
one of which was to estal^lish a journal called the Watchman. 
With his customary enthusiasm for each new scheme he made 
a tour of the middle counties and secured a large number of 
subscribers; but through a lack of business judgment and 
tact the enterprise soon failed. He tried preaching in the 
Unitarian chapels around Bristol. Of this period Hazlitt has 
left us an interesting account : ^ 

" Mr. Coleridge rose and gave out his text : ' And He de- 
parted again into a mountain. Himself alone.' As he gave 
out this text, his voice ^ rose like a stream of rich distilled 

> "Reflections on Having Left a Place of Retirement." 
2 Hazlitt's " My First Acquaintance with Poets." 



XIV INTRODUCTION 

perfumes ' ; and when he came to the two last words, which 
he pronounced loud, deep and distinct, it seemed to me, who 
was then young, as if the sounds had echoed from the bottom 
of the human heart, and as if the prayer might have floated in 
a solemn silence through the universe. . . . The preacher 
then launched into his subject like an eagle dallying with the 
wind." 

The following pen picture gives us a good idea of the 
poet's personal appearance during this period of his life : ^ 
" In ]3erson he was a dark, tall, handsome young man, with 
long, black, flowing hair ; eyes not merely black, but black and 
keenly penetrating; a fine forehead; a deep-toned, harmonious 
voice; a manner never to be forgotten, full of life, vivacity 
and kindness; dignified in person; and, added to all these, 
exhibiting the elements of his future greatness.'^ 

But it is about this time that we first read in one of his 
letters of his having suffered from neuralgia of the face, and 
of his having alleviated the pain with laudanum — the first 
cloud of the many that were to darken his intellect, his will, 
and his life. 

With 1797 came the harvest year of Coleridge's poetical life. 
His faculties seemed to ripen almost as if by magic, and in 
twelve months he had produced nearly all his greatest poetry. 
" The Ancient Mariner,'' " Christabel," " The Ode to France," 
" Eemorse," and " Kubla Khan " were all the products of this 
year's labor. One cause, perhaps the main one, of this poetic 
fruitage is not far to seek. In the earlier part of the year 
Coleridge and his family had moved among the Quantock 
hills to the village of Nether Stowey ; and here the poet came 
in contact with two remarkable people, Wordsworth and his 
sister Dorothy. The friendship between the two poets meant 
much to both. To Wordsworth Coleridge supplied the en- 
thusiasm and the faith and courage necessary for carrying out 

1 Smith's " Reminiscences of an Octogenarian," quoted in Coleridge's Letters. 
I, 181. 



THE LIFE OF COLERIDGE XV 

his poetic la1)ors; to Coleridge Wordsworth supj)lied a calm- 
ness and steadiness which the former, carried away by his 
tiimnltuoiis vitality, especially required; while Dorothy 
Wordsworth, with her quick, delicate perception and quiet en- 
couragement, stimulated him to his most artistic and most 
imaginative efforts. The results of the united work of these 
two poets appeared in the Spring of 1798, when the Lyrical 
Ballads w^ere published, a thin volume, to wdiich Wordsworth 
had contributed four or five times as much as had his less 
steady co-worker. This volume, which began with The An- 
cient Mariner, and also contained the Lines Written Above 
Tint em Ahhey, created little stir in the literary world, though 
we of to-day have come to regard it as the culmination of the 
revolt against the standards that prevailed through a large 
part of the eighteenth century. 

About this same time Coleridge received from the Wedg- 
wood brothers, the great English pottery makers, an annuity 
which, though not large, enabled him to devote his entire time 
to literature. In company with William and Dorothy Words- 
worth he visited Germany, where he busied himself with a 
study of Kant and the transcendental philosophy. " Instead 
of troubling others with my own crude notions and juvenile 
compositions," he writes, " I was thenceforward better em- 
ployed in attempting to store my head with the wisdom of 
others." ^ He passed the w^inter hard at work, and made con- 
siderable progress with the language ; though his letters of 
the time are filled with his homesickness and his yearning to 
see his wife and baby Hartley. Two results came from this 
winter thus spent : Coleridge became imbued with the German 
transcendental philosophy, and upon his return did more than 
any other man to propagate it in England. Another and more 
immediate result was the translation of Schiller's Wallenstein 
soon after his return — one of the best translations ever made 
of a foreign work into English. 

1 "'Biographia Litciaria," I, 300. 



XVI INTRODUCTION 

UlDon the remainder of Coleridge's career we need dwell but 
briefly; for liis poetic life had practically closed. Under the 
influence of severe bodily pain he resorted to the use of 
opium; and his will-power, never very strong, was shattered 
by the use of the drug. The story of much of the remainder 
of his life^ especially of the succeeding decade when his powers 
should have been at their best, is the story of repeated failures. 
Coleridge's was a life of magnificent projects, destined never 
to be fulfilled. He undertook various employments, such as 
newspaper work, another magazine, along much the same lines 
as the Watchman, and lecturing. 

As a lecturer he was perhaps more successful than in any 
other line. His audiences certainly heard the finest critical 
lectures ever delivered in English. Yet he was notoriously 
untrustworthy in keeping these appointments, and depended 
upon the inspiration of the moment to carry him along. At 
last, after many troubles, he found a refuge under the care of 
Dr. Gillman, a London physician, whose famih;, as Leigh 
Hunt remarks, " had sense and kindness enough to know 
that they did themselves honor by looking after the comfort 
of such a man." Carl3de has left us a vivid description of the 
poet as he appeared in his last days : ^ 

" Coleridge sat on the brow of Highgate Hill, in those years, 
looking down on London and its smoke tumult like a sage 
escaped from the inanity of life's battle; attracting toward 
him the thoughts of innumerable brave souls still engaged 
there. His express contributions to poetr3\ philosoph}^ or any 
specific province of human literature or enlightenment, had 
been small and sadly intermittent; but he had, especially 
among young inquiring men, a higher than literar}^, a kind of 
prophetic or magician character. He was thought to hold, he 
alone in England, the key to German and other transcenden- 
talisms ; knew the sublime secret of believing by ^ the reason ' 
what ^ the understanding ' had been obliged to fling out as 

» Carlyle's " Life of John Sterling." 



THE LIFE OF COLERIDGE XVll 

incredible — a sublime man; who, alone in those dark days had 
saved his crown of spiritual manliood; escaping from the 
black materialisms, and revolutionary deluges, with God, 
Freedom, Immortality still his: a king of men. The prac- 
tical intellects of the world did not much heed him, or care- 
lessly reckoned him a metaphysical dreamer : but to the rising 
spirits of the younger generation he had this dusky, sublime 
character ; and sat there a kind of Magus girt in mystery and 
enigma. . . . The good man, he was now getting old, 
towards sixty, perhaps; and gave you the idea of a life that 
had been full of suffering ; a life heavy-laden, half -vanquished, 
still swimming painfully in seas of manifold physical and 
other bewilderment. Brow and head were round, and of mas- 
sive weight, but the face was flabby and irresolute. The deep 
eyes, of a light hazel, were as full of sorrow as of inspiration ; 
confused pain looking mildly from them, as in a kind of mild 
astonishment — A lieavy-laden, high-aspiring, and surely much- 
suffering man." 

In some respects Coleridge resembles his own Ancient Mar- 
iner. Like the Mariner, he too knew the curse of Life-in- 
Death. We may well end this sketch of his life with the 
Epitaph he wrote shortly before his death, which came July 
25, 1834: 

"Stop, Christian passer-by! Stop, child of God, 
And read with gentle breast. Beneath this sod 
A poet lies, or that which once seemed he. 
0, lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C. ; 
That he who many a year with toil and breath 
Found death in life, may here find life in death; 
Mercy for praise — to be forgiven for fame 
He ask'd, and hoped, through Christ. 
Do thou the same ! " 



XVll] INTRODUCTION 

THE LIFE OF LOWELL 

James Kussell Lowell, the youngest of six children, was 
born February 22, 1819, at Elm wood, the family home, in 
Cambridge, Massachusetts. His father, the Ksv. Charles 
Lowell, was minister of one of the largest churches in Boston 
— a well-educated, kindly pastor whom his renowned son has 
characterized as " a Doctor Primrose in the comparative 
degree/^ The Lowell family had been among the early settlers 
of Massachusetts; many of them had gained distinction; and 
the gracious minister was " as proud of his pedigree as ever 
a Talbot or a Stanley could be." In his college days he had 
studied medicine as well as theology, so he went among his 
parishioners healing and carrying the Bible. The poet's 
mother, whose maiden name was Spence, loved to trace a 
fancied relation to Sir Patrick Spens of ballad fame and to 
claim the traditional family gift of second sight. She showed 
the us'ual mother fo^ndness for a yo«ungest child, and delighted 
to listen for the little fellow's cheery whistle announcing for 
her his return from school, or to receive the nosegays of wild 
white-weed and blue-eyed grass which he loved to bring her. 

At Elmwood, with its large, square, frame, colonial house, 
its noble elms, and its few acres half meadow and half farm, 
the poet passed his youth and early manhood. Fish Pond, a 
small lake not far from the home, was one of Lowell's favor- 
ite haunts. Here he would sail in the summer, and in winter 
was happy when allowed, to help the ice-cutters gather their 
harvest. Many of the scenes of these early years live in his 
poems ; the line of heavy willows at the end of the 'New Eoad 
is commemorated first in " The Indian Summer Eeverie," 
and later in " Under the Willows." 

As might be expected Lowell entered Harvard College, 
where he says he read everything except the prescribed books. 
His letters written during these years are filled with a boyish 
enthusiasm for the English poets, and he tells with delight of 



THE LIFE OF LOWELL XIX 

each new book he has added to his precious library. In his 
senior year he served as one of the editors of Harvardiana, 
the college journal, and was elected class poet; but for his 
failure to attend chapel he was "^ rusticated '' — sent to Con- 
cord for several weeks before Commencement — and was not 
allowed to read his poem. After graduation he was long un- 
decided what profession to choose. He read law " with as 
good a grace and few Avry faces as possible/' gave it up, then 
resumed his study, and even received his degree from the Dane 
Law School of Harvard. But he never practised and soon 
decided to devote himself entirely to writing. 

His growing literary powers were stimulated by his interest 
in the great social problems of the day, especially the question 
of slavery, and by his love for Maria White, to whom, after 
an engagement of five years, he was married in ISi-i. She 
was an attractive, sympathetic woman of high ideals, who 
by the stimulating power of her love roused her husband to 
his best work both in furthering the reforms they held dear 
and in giving expression to his conceptions of beauty. The 
young couple spent the first winter of their married life in 
rhiladelphia, where Lowell contributed to the Pennsylvania 
Freeman, the anti-slavery journal of which Whittier had been 
editor. In one of his letters of this time Lowell writes to a 
friend:^ "We have a little room in the third story (back), 
with white muslin curtains trimmed with evergreen, and are 
as happy as two mortals can be. I think Maria is better, and I 
know I am — in health, I mean; in spirit we both are. She is 
gaining flesh and so am I, and my cheeks have grown so pre- 
posterously red that I look as if I had rubbed them against 
all the red brick walls in the city." 

After their return to Elmwood in the following June, 
Lowell wrote chiefly for the Anti-81averij Standard, con- 
tributing both prose and verse marked by their high ideals 
and convincing earnestness. 

1 Letter to Robert Carter. Quoted in SciuWer's "Life of Lowell," I, 154. 



XX INTRODUCTION 

The seven years following the publication of his first vol- 
ume, "A Year's Life/' in 1841, show a wonderful development 
of his powers as a poet. We noted how Coleridge produced in 
one splendid year nearly all the poems on which his fame 
rests. Fifty years late, 1848, Lowell, too, had his remarkable 
harvest. As he himself expressed it, his brain required a 
long brooding time before it could hatch anything; but that 
time had now come. In this one year he wrote the first series 
of the " Biglow Papers," the best of American satires, " A 
Fable for Critics," and " The Vision of Sir Launfal." 

In 1857 Lowell succeeded Longfellow at Harvard as Smith 
Professor of Modern Languages, a position which he held for 
about twenty years. He was not a methodical teacher; but 
the students soon came to love the keen, thoughtful professor, 
wearing a rather shabby sack coat, who gave them some of the 
finest literary comment ever heard in an American college 
class-room. Despite his popularity in later j^ears, Lowell 
loved the life of the student and was happy in sitting for 
hours with his book and pipe among his well-filled book- 
shelves, whose worn volumes, the margins crowded with com- 
ments and notes, bore witness of his industry and scholarship. 

In addition to his teaching he soon assumed the responsible 
position of editor of the newly-founded Atlantic Monthly. 
When he accepted he made it a condition precedent that 
Holmes should be the first contributor engaged, and the wis- 
dom of this demand was amply justified by the " Autocrat of 
the Breakfast Table," Avhich appeared in serial form. Almost 
all of our great American writers contributed to these first 
volumes of the Atlantic, which under LowelFs management 
became one of the best magazines published in English. 

Later he was associated with Charles Eliot Norton in edit- 
ing the North American Review. In his younger days he had 
declared that if he had a vocation it was the making of verse, 
and that he found waiting prose difficult; but later he did his 
best work in prose, contributing to the Review both the de- 



THE LIFE OF LOWELL Xxi 

lightful essays on out-door life and his penetrating, suggestive 
studies of authors and their books which have marked him as 
America's foremost literary critic. Xor must we forget his 
Political Essays of the years of the Civil War and the Eecon- 
struction. Lowell failed, as did most of his friends, to appre- 
ciate Lincoln at the beginning of his administration, and 
wished that Seward had been chosen as the party leader. But 
his impatience at Lincoln's cautious policy gradually gave way 
to admiration for the far-seeing statesmanship, and in 1864 
he warmly championed the president's re-election. In the 
" Commemoration Ode," recited at the Harvard memorial 
service in honor of her sons who had fallen in tlie Civil War, 
Lowell pays a beautiful tribute to the dead president — " Xew 
birth of our new soil, the first American." 

Late in life Lowell entered a new field of labor. In 1877 
he was appointed minister to Spain. Though he possessed a 
very fair knowledge of Spanish, he set himself to master the 
language, and wrote about this time : ^ "I am working now at 
Spanish as I used to work at Old French — that is, all the time 
and with all my might; I mean to know it better than tliey 
do themselves, which is not saying much." He loved to spend 
his brief vacations prowling around the book-stores, especially 
in Paris, and was pleased to purchase rare sets, consoling him- 
self after every extravagance with the thought that upon his 
death these works should go to the library of his beloved Har- 
vard. So well did he perform his duties at the Spanish court 
that in 1880 he was made Minister to England, the highest 
position in the American diplomatic service. Here he became 
in truth " The American embassador to the court of Shake- 
speare." It has been said that no other American has ever 
been w^elcomed to so many English homes, and that, too, in 
spite of Lowell's patriotism which made him more than will- 
ing to defend his country. In these years he gained many 
new friends and was drawn closer to some old ones, especially 

J Hale"s " James Ruegell Lowell and his Friends," p. 229. 



Xxii INTRODUCTION 

to Leslie Stephen and to Thomas Hughes, whom he addresses 
affectionately as " My dear Tom Brown." 

Toward the close of his life Lowell suffered a (^Teat deal; 
but he bore it all cheerfully, and his letters to his friends are 
bright and hopeful. He died August 12, 1891, at Elmwood, 
the home where he had been born and had passed the greater 
part of his life. His remains lie in the Mt. Auburn Cemetery 
at Cambridge, not far from those of his friends Longfellow 
and Holmes. England has honored Lowell by placing in West- 
minster Abbey his bust and a memorial window. In the 
centre of this great window is the figure of Sir Launf al ; be- 
neath stands an angel bearing the Holy Grail; while in the 
lowest compartment is represented the story of Sir Launfal 
and the leper. 

THE ROMANTIC MOVEMENT 

When John Dryden assumed the literary dictatorship of 
England toward the close of the seventeenth century, there 
began what has been termed the Classical Age of English 
literature. Literary history, like all other history for that 
matter, shows the influence of two forces, the assertion of the 
individual as opposed to established standards, and the main- 
tenance of a set authority, a law to which all must conform. 
Sometimes one tendency is stronger in literature, sometimes 
the other. The age of Elizabeth had been one in which free 
play had been given to the imagination ; it was but natural that 
there should be a reaction in favor of some definite standards 
of authority, and such a reaction came in the time of Dryden 
and his successor. Pope. This Classical Age, then, is marked 
by the suppression of the individual and the recognition of 
authority. A great deal of attention was paid to the form of 
expression ; literature became a matter of " what oft was 
thought, but ne'er so well expressed''; the heroic couplet 
reigned as the proper verse form. Interest in literature was 



THE ROMANHC MOVEMENT XXlll 

confined largely to the Greek and Roman classics ; and because 
this period took these writings as its models, it has gained the 
name of the Classical Age. The age is characterized by its 
lack of mystery and of aspiration: all display of anything 
emotional was rigorously repressed^ and interest was centred 
in the intellectual side of things. Practically the range of 
literary interests and themes was the very narrow one of the 
fashionable life of London. A distaste for the wild and grand 
in Nature prevailed. Mountains and the rugged aspects of 
the sea were regarded as hostile to man; and the landscape 
gardening of the age attempted to force Nature to conform 
to rule and square. The poverty of the times in lyrical verse 
is especially significant. Naturally the best work of the period 
was in satire, burlesque, and travesty. But we must not con- 
demn the age too severely; it passed away in due season, but 
it left with English writers a regard for form that has been 
of inestimable value to our literature. 

The Classical Age with its respect for authority finally 
brought a reaction which for the want of a better name is 
called the Romantic Movement. This movement arose from the 
desire of men to escape from the conventional, the formal, the 
established. It w^as not confined to literature alone : in the 
Church we find this tendency manifesting itself in the great 
religious movement headed by the Wesleys; in politics and 
philosophy we find it culminating in the assertion of the in- 
dividual, " All men are created free and equal," and finally 
in the great French Revolution. Critics generally date the 
l^eginning of the Romantic Movement from 1726, when 
Thomson's "Winter" was published. In this poem we note 
an increased interest in Nature, which is no longer regarded 
as hostile toward man. Here, too, we discern the distinguish- 
ing mark of all romanticism — a freer play of the imagina- 
tion, and an increased sympathy with and interest in things 
appealing to it. This greater sympathy with Nature finds 
its manifestation in nearly all the poets of the time — Gray, 



Xxiv INTRODUCTION 

Cowper, Crabbe, and Blake. Another mark of the Eomantic 
Movement is the increased interest in things remote. Mc- 
Pherson^ a Scotchman, brought forth the " Ossian," which he 
declared was a translation of the old Celtic stories, and the 
volume was received with unbounded enthusiasm. Coleridge 
alludes to this work in the preface of his first collection of 
poems, and in this collection gives two verses in imitation of 
the Ossian. Chatterton, too, the boy poet who passed his own 
poems as the work of the mediaeval monk Eowley, did much 
toward rousing not only Coleridge's interest, but that of the 
whole land, in the ages past. It would be difficult to prove 
that the Eowley poems exerted much influence in shaping 
Coleridge's style; but we catch the strain of The Ancient 
Mariner in such j)assages as : 

"Before him went the council men, 
In scarlet robes and gold, 
And tassels spangling in the sun, 
Most glorious to behold."' 

But it is probably to Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry 
more than to any one other source that we owe the increased 
interest in the past. In the Eeliques were published for the 
first time many of the old English ballads; and after this 
publication interest in English ballad poetry grew rapidly. 
Wordsworth said that English poexry had been " absolutely 
redeemed " by them. He adds, " I do not think that there 
is a writer of verse of the present day who would not be 
proud to acknowledge his obligations to the Eeliques; I know 
that it is so with my friends; and for myself I am happy on 
this occasion to make a public avowal of my own.'^ ^ We can- 
not help believing that without Percy's Eeliques The An- 
cient Mariner would have been far different from what it is. 

Still another characteristic of this movement is a height- 
ened interest in things strange and mysterious. Walpole's 

* Appendix to the Preface to the 3d edition of "Lyrical Ballads." 



THE ROMANTIC MOVEMENT XXV 

Castle of Oinuito is a good illustration; a tale of gliost- 
hauiited castles, secret passages, unnatural deeds, and mys- 
teriously waving helmets. This same tendency finds its best 
manifestation in the works of a novelist of the last of the 
century, " Monk " Lewis. The hermit, a solitary figure ap- 
pealing to the imagination, becomes a common character 
appearing in much of the poetry and romance of the time. 

The imagination finds its freer play not alone in the realm 
of the mysterious, but also in the things of every-day life. 
Crabbe describes with photographic minuteness the life of the 
simple village; the conception that all men are brothers, and 
that the affairs of the humblest were fit subjects for poetry 
gained ground; and the interest thus excited did much to 
better the condition of the poor. Nor was this interest con- 
fined to mankind alone. All through the century we note 
protests against cruelty to dumb animals, as in the works of 
Beattie, who objected strongly to the English field sports. 
This spirit grew till it found its best expression in Coleridge, 
who asks, in his Religious Musings: " Are not cattle and 
plants permeated through and through with the divinity who 
has created things to form one harmonious whole? Does not 
the same great heart beat in the lowest as well as in the high- 
est creature ? " 

But it is in Tlie Ancient Mariner that this feeling for 
animals finds its best expression. The poem is in many re- 
spects the perfect flower of the Eomantic Movement. It is 
romantic in its aspiration, and in its symbolism and mysti- 
cism, as in its use of mystical numbers, " seven days and 
seven nights," " nine fathoms,'' " one of three '' guests. More 
than any other poem, possibly, it exemplifies what we have 
designated as the distinguishing mark of romanticism — the 
free play of the imagination and an interest in things ap- 
pealing to it. 

Lowell was of the second generation of Eomanticists, or per- 
haps the third. At any rate he was aroused, like other young 



XXvi INTRODUCTION 

men of his time, not only by the poetry of Coleridge, Keats, 
Shelley, but by the literature which had given them ideas, 
notably the ballad poetry and the Elizabethan drama. It is 
the former that gives the chief suggestion to " Sir Launfal " 
in the matter of form as it had also to "The Ancient 
Mariner." 

Note.— The student will be interested in examining for himself the literature of the 
period here discussed. The fourth volume of Ward's " English Poets " contains represen- 
tative extracts from most of the authors cited. Pope's "Essay on Criticism" and his 
"Essay on Man" are good illustrations of the w^ork of the Classical Age. Various 
phases of the Romantic Movement are illustrated in Gray's "Elegy," Goldsmith's 
" Deserted Village," parts of Cowper's "Task," the first book of Crabbe's "Village," 
Chatterton's "An Excellent Ballad of Charity," and Blake's " To an Evening Star." 



THE ANCIENT MARINER 

The Composition of the Poem 

Both Wordsworth and Coleridge have left us interesting 
accounts of the genesis of Tlie Ancient Mariner. In the 
autumn of 1797, Coleridge's w^onderful year, the poet, in 
company with Wordsworth and his sister Dorothy, started on 
a tramp through the beautiful Quantock Hills. To meet the 
expenses of the trip, it was proposed that the two young men 
conjointly write a poem to be sent to the New Monthly 
Magazine. From this work they hoped to realize at least five 
pounds. As the two walked along the hills they planned the 
poem. Most of the story was Coleridge's ; he proposed to base 
the poem upon the dream of a friend, a certain Mr. Cruik- 
shank, a dream " of a skeleton ship with figures in it." 
Wordsworth suggested that some crime be committed, bring- 
ing with it persecution; and, as he had just been reading 
Shelvocke's Voyages, with its account of the albatrosses of 
the region round Cape Horn, proposed that the sailor should 
be represented as killing one of the birds and then being 



THE ANCIENT MARINER XXvil 

pursued by the spirits of the region. The two poets began 
the composition together; but their styles were so different, 
Wordsworth's more human genius was so ill-adapted to co- 
operate with Coleridge's Ariel-like invention, that the former 
soon withdrew from the project. He did, however, furnish 
certain lines, for example, 

'*' And listened like a three years' child: 
The Mariner hath his will." 

The poem grew beyond expectation, and it was decided to 
make it one of a volume of poems to be written conjointly by 
the two young men. In due time this volume was published 
under the title, Lyrical Ballads. To this little collection 
Wordsworth l)rought nearly five times as much as did Col- 
eridge, the best of his j)oems here contributed being " Lines 
Written Above Tintern Abbey." " The Ancient Mariner," 
however, stood first in the collection. 

Coleridge tells us ^ that the poets proposed for themselves 
two objects ; and these two methods represent two extremes of 
romanticism. Coleridge was to take subjects concerned with 
romantic or supernatural characters, and by showing their 
truth to our inner life was '^'' to procure for these shadows of 
the imagination that willing suspension of misbelief for the 
moment, which constitutes poetic faith." Wordsworth, on 
the other hand, was to take the experiences and personages of 
every-day life and give an interest to these subjects by call- 
ing attention to the wonder and beauty which surround us, 
but for which, from long and careless association, we have 
lost our appreciation. 

" The Ancient Mariner " underwent a number of changes 
in the subsequent editions of 1800 and 1817. Many of the 
more j^ronounced archaisms in spelling and in the use of 
words and phrases disappeared. Some few stanzas of the 
original text were either altered or dropped, and the sub- 

1 "Biographia Literaria," Chap. xiv. 



XXVlll INTRODUCTION 

title, " A Poet's Eeverie," was added. This was wisely dis- 
carded in the edition of 1817 when the pruning process was 
continued — resulting in almost every instance in an improve- 
ment of the poem. At this time, too, was added the beautiful 
gloss. 

" The Ancient Mariner " a Literary Ballad 

We may class " The Ancient Mariner " as a literary ballad : 
literary as opposed to the folk song-stories which grew up 
among the people; a ballad as possessing many of the char- 
acteristics of that primitive form of literature. It is true 
that most of the older ballads tell a story without attempt- 
ing to enforce a moral, and that this poem embodies the 
lesson of the redemption of the Mariner; but the alle- 
gorical aspect of this masterpiece is not the thing of great- 
est importance. Just as in the folk songs, the chief in- 
terest lies in the story itself and in the manner of telling. 
One finds in this poem but few questions and answers, a 
characteristic of the older ballads, though there are frequent 
instances of lines repeated entire or with but slight variation. 
In its directness of narration, too, " The Ancient Mariner " 
is akin to the old-time song-stories. The language of the poem 
is quaint, and while not so archaic as to be unintelligible — 
gives an impression of time that is past and blends well with 
the indefinite setting in an earlier age, when all lands had not 
been explored, and there were still undiscovered seas w^iere 
such adventures as those of the Ancient ^lariner niiglit 
happen. Occasionally, too, the last syllable of a word is 
accented in old ballad fashion, also, mariner, and countree. 

Suggestions for Teaching and Study 

Generally speaking, the w^ork in literature should be in- 
tensive and extensive. The teacher in the secondary school 
should aim to acquaint the student with, as many good books 
as possible, but the large majority of his students must plead 



THE ANCIENT MARINER XXIX 

ignorance of any knowledge of better literature outside of the 
few prescribed books. There is much to be gained simply 
from the careful reading of the masterpieces of the ver- 
nacular. The teacher makes a mistake who does not set aside 
two or three days of each month when students shall report 
upon their reading of some of the great works of English 
literature. Then certain books should be studied carefully 
and thoroughly. Too often^ it is true, such a study has been 
made mechanical and deadening; in noting the details there 
is a danger of losing the spirit of the entire poem. In spite 
of a good deal of valid objection to closely analytic methods 
of study, a certain amount of such work is absolutely essen- 
tial to any intelligent enjoyment of literature ; and such work 
may be highly disciplinary and thoroughly delightful. No 
other poem, perhaps, offers a better field for such analysis of 
the poet's art than does " The Ancient Mariner,'' and one's 
enjoyment and appreciation are greatly heightened in study- 
ing its wonderful beauty and perfection of form. 

In taking up the study of the poem, the teacher should see 
that the students read and re-read it, not only till they are 
thoroughly acquainted with the story, but till they have suc- 
ceeded in entering into its spirit and in feeling the beauty, 
the quaintness of style, and the simple directness of the nar- 
rative. It is not well at first to emphasize the moral of the 
poem. True, there is woven into the warp of the story the 
lesson of the redemption of the Ancient Mariner — ^how he 
violates the law of love, and how he is punished by being given 
over to the power of Life-in-Death. But this lesson is by no 
means the most important part of the poem. If beauty is its 
own excuse for being, the existence of " The Ancient Mar- 
iner" is certainly justified. Try, above all else, to help the 
student to enter into this Coleridge-land, this region of the 
silent sea, of the vast, dead calm with its intense heat, of 
weird moonlight, and of the mysterious, beautiful figures that 
conduct the Mariner home. 



XXX INTRODUCTION 

The verse of " The Ancient Mariner ^' is marked by the 
haunting quality that distinguishes the best of Poe's poems. 
The swing of the rhythm impresses the lines upon the mem- 
ory, so that most students will find it an easy and pleasant 
task to commit to memory many stanzas. The teacher should 
encourage the pupils to select and to commit those portions 
of the poem that impress them for the beauty and vividness 
of the scene presented, for the musical flow of the verse, for 
the sweet, simple moral, for the quaint archaic diction, or for 
whatever reason the stanzas may appeal as of special w^orth. 
In almost every class seven students will be willing each to 
commit one of the parts of the poem, and thus by each repeat- 
ing his portion in turn, to recite the whole in a single class 
hour. 

Naturally the teacher must pay a certain amount of atten- 
tion to the grammatical structure and the allusions, not so 
much as valuable in themselves as helpful in grasping the 
meaning and beauty of the whole. The questions, too, aim 
primarily to emphasize the wonderful art of the poet in the 
composition of " The Ancient Mariner,'^ and of his mar- 
vellous ability to paint beautiful word pictures. The teacher 
must impress upon the student that when he has grasped all 
the notes and answered all the questions he will not have 
gained all from the poem. To each pupil will come thoughts, 
suggestions, and comparisons that will be worth more to him 
than the contributions of either teacher or editor. As these 
ideas arise, it is well to jot them along the margin of the page 
or in a special notebook. While students are studying " The 
Ancient Mariner," they should be encouraged to read other 
poems by the same author. Some of the best of Coleridge's 
poems are " Christabel," " Kubla Khan,'' " Ballad of the Dark 
Ladie," "Fears in Solitude," "Hymn before Sunrise in the 
Vale of Chamouni," "Frost at Midnight," " Dejection," and 
"The Pains of Sleep." 

After the student has studied the poem thoroughly, he 



THE ANCIENT MARINER XXXi 

should re-read it once or twice to enjoy it; for here, after all, 
lies its value — to enjoy it with the added ability for apprecia- 
tion which study has brought. 

The Metrical Form 

The normal stanza of " The Ancient Mariner " is made up 
of four lines, the first and the third consisting of four feet, 
the second and fourth of three. The normal line we may say 
consists of four iambic feet, that is four feet each containing 
one unaccented and one accented syllable : 

I closed I my eyes | and kept | them closed. 

A number of exceptions are to be noted. For example, 
when the poet wishes to give a rapidity of movement to the 
line, he frequently employs the trochaic foot, consisting of 
one accented and one unaccented syllable. Occasionally in 
these trochaic lines the last foot is incomplete: 

Swiftfy I swfftly | flew the | sMp; 
Four times | fifty | living | men; 
Softly I she was | going | up. 

Sometimes the anapaestic foot — two unaccented and one 
accented syllables — is used : 

For the sky | and the sea | and the sea | and the sky. 

In a few instances we find several successive lines beginning 
with an anap^stic foot as in Stanza LXIII. Almost always, 
though, the anapaestic and the trochaic feet are employed in 
combination with the iambic foot. Now and then all of the 
three different kinds of metre are used in the same line: 

/v. w/ wv. /v-/ 

Lay like | a load | on my wea | ry eye 



XXXll INTRODUCTION 

We have just noted how some trochaic lines are incomplete. 
Occasionally, partly for the sake of variety and partly in imi- 
tation of the old ballads, Coleridge has employed an extra 
unaccented syllable: 

But no I sweet bird | did fol | low. 

Eapidity or slowness of movement is sometimes secured not 
through any variation of the metre, but by the choice of short, 
rapid words, or their opposites, as the case demands, and by 
their repetition. Coleridge is especially happy in his com- 
bination of vowel sounds to produce any given effect: 

Alone, alone, all, all alone. 

Most of the rhymes of the poem are good ones ; the number 
of imperfect rhymes is comparatively small. There are a 
few illustrations of shifting the accent to the last syllable of 
a word for the sake of the rhyme, as was done in the old 
ballads. Now and then the use of the medial rhyme adds 
beauty and force to the stanza: 

Around, around, flew each siveet sound. 

While the normal stanza consists of four lines, we find fre- 
quent variations; sometimes the stanza is composed of five, 
six, or even in one instance of nine lines. Usually this varia- 
tion occurs in the stanzas which contain striking portions of 
the story, such stanzas, for example, as those that mark im- 
portant transitions: the entrance of the ship into the mys- 
terious region in Stanza XII, and its return in Stanza CIT. 
Occasionally by this variation is enhanced the beauty of some 
musical or picturesque passage, as in Stanza LXXXIV. Xow 
and then, as in Stanza XXXV, the increased number of the 
lines emphasizes the monotony of the situation. 



THE ANCIENT MARINER XXxili 



Questions for General Study and Review 

Would the poem be as effective if written in some other 
metre, e.g., the dactylic hexametre of Longfellow's " Evan- 
geline/' or the blanlc verse of Bryant's " Thanatopsis " ? Give 
as many reasons as you can for your answer. 

Do you find any imperfect rhymes in the poem? 

Select three illustrations of where the sound of the line 
reflects the sense. 

Why are we not told anything more definite regarding the 
time and place of the story? 

What dilferent indications are there in the poem that the 
Ancient Mariner was a Eoman Catholic? 

Describe the typical sailor as you imagine him. Make out 
a description of the Ancient Mariner from the poem. Com- 
pare the two pictures. 

In what different ways does the poet secure our faith in his 
story ? 

Is the punishment of the Ancient Mariner and of his mess- 
mates out of proportion to their offence? 

Trace the different steps in the spiritual developme^it of 
the Ancient Mariner. 

Is the moral of the story too evident? 

Try to select titles for each of the divisions of the poem. 
Such titles should be brief and should not suggest more than 
each division actually contains. When you have selected these 
titles, see if they contain in miniature the entire story of the 
Ancient Mariner. 

Wli at would have been the effect if there had been employed 
in this poem a homely, peasant-like style, as Wordsworth 
wished ? 

Could any stanzas be omitted without materially affecting 
the poem ? 



XXxiv INTRODUCTION 

Select several passages that seem to you good ones for an 
artist to illustrate. Give reasons for your choice. 

Are there any passages where the interest in the descrip- 
tion is more powerful than in the story itself? 

Are any lines of the poem suggestive of the Scriptures ? 

Where is the movement of the story very rapid? Where 
very slow? Account for the changes. 

Select five figures that seem especially apt or especially 
beautiful, and try to determine the source of their effective- 
ness. 

Can you form any idea of the writer's character from the 
poem ? 

Would the poem be better if it " had more in it of the air 
and savor of the sea ? '' 

What elements characteristic of romanticism do you find in 
the Ancient Mariner? 

External nature may be employed in a poem (1) as a set- 
ting for the story; (2) to contrast with the spirit of the 
poem; (3) to harmonize with the spirit of the poem and to 
enforce it. Which of these uses do we find in this poem ? 

Coleridge's Methods of Description: (a) Epithets. A 
single vivid word is given; (b) Description by Effect; (c) 
Description brought out incidentally by the use of narrative. 
Can you find illustrations of these different methods of 
description ? 

What does Coleridge gain by the use of the gloss ? Does it 
ever serve to explain the course of events? Does it add to the 
l)eauty of the scene? Does it add to the quaintness of the 
poem ? Which do you consider the most beautiful of all the 
glosses, and why? 

Bibliography 

The " Poetical Works " of Coleridge, edited by Campbell ; 
Macmillan, 1893. This is the standard edition of Coleridge's 



THE ANCIENT MARINER XXXV 

work, and contains as an introduction the most satisfactory of 
the biographies of Coleridge. 

The biograpliy has been reissued in separate form by the 
Macmillans as " Samuel Taylor Coleridge : a Narrative of the 
Events of his Life," 1894. 

"Biographia Literaria (etc.)." By S. T. Coleridge. 
Second edition, prepared for publication in part by the late 
H. N. Coleridge; completed and published by his widow; 2 
volumes, 1847. 

" Select Poems of Coleridge," by A. J. George. D. C. 
Heath and Company, 1902. 

" Coleridge " ; biography by H. D. Traill in the English 
'' Men of Letter Series." A well written, comprehensive 
biography. 

" Coleridge," biography by Hall Caine in the " Great 
Writers Series." Less satisfactory than the preceding biog- 
raphies, but brilliant in places and containing an admirable 
bibliography. 

Among Coleridge's poems possessing an autobiographical 
interest are " On Keceiving an Account That His Only Sister^s 
Death was Inevitable," " Absence," " Reflections on Having 
Left a Place of Retirement," " To the Rev. George Coleridge," 
" The Lime Tree Bower My Prison," " Frost at Midnight," 
'^ Dejection." 

Valuable reminiscences of Coleridge have been left us by 
Lamb, DeQuincey, Wordsworth, Hunt, and Carlyle. 

Pater's " Appreciations "; Macmillan, 1894. If the student 
is to read any critical comment, he will find this a most pene- 
trating and suggestive essay. 

Brooke's " Theology in the English Poets," Appleton, gives 
an interesting presentation of the moral significance of the 
story. 

Dowden's " New Studies in Literature " contains some 
delightful and very sane criticisms. 



XXXVl INTRODUCTION 

THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 

In considering the theme of " The Vision of Sir Launfal/' 
we need add little to the prefatory note Lowell has left us. 
Though the name, Sir Launfal, is not original, having been 
used before in a few obscure poems, Lowell has made the 
kriight peeuliarW his own. We must credit the poet both 
with the invention of the plot and with the extension of the 
significance of the quest. In the older stories of the Grail 
only the chaste could hope to catch sight of it; Lowell has 
l)roadened the requisite to the love of one's fellow-men. Into 
the poem, too, Lowell has put much of the life he was then 
living; the landscape described is essentially that of New 
England. In a letter written about the time he composed the 
poem he says : 

" Last night I walked to Watertown over the snow, with the 
new moon before me. Orion was rising before me, the still- 
ness of the fields around me was delicious, broken only by the 
people, of the little brook which runs too swiftly for Frost to 
catch* My picture of the brook in Sw Launfal was drawn 
from it." 

The mode of writing the poem is characteristic of Lowell. 
Forty years after its composition he commented thus in one 
of his letters : " — how easily I used to write ! too easily I 
think now. But I couldn't help it. Everything came at a 
jump and all of a piece." The first of the " Biglow Papers," 
"A Fable for Critics," " The Vision of Sir Launfal," and the 
" Commemoration Ode," not to mention others, were all writ- 
ten under such inspirations. Lowell often commented on his 
dependence upon moods for producing any satisfactory work. 

In judging " Sir Launfal," then, we must remember that it 
was written in a few hours, and that it shows the advantages 
and the disadvantages of such a mode of composition. Lowell 
disliked exceedingly to revise and to polish his work. Poe, a 
far less prolific artist, returned time and time again to his 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL XXXVll 

poems, and at each revision he usually improved them. Per- 
haps the very ease with which Lowell wrote when in the mood 
made him careless of correcting. Moreover, despite his pro- 
test that he is a good versifier, we cannot help feeling that 
many lines in " Sir Launf al," such, for example, as " And 
the wanderer is welcomed to the hall," are unjustifiably 
rough, and that Lowell did not possess the firmness or the 
delicacy of touch so marked in the great melodists. Then, 
too, like Tennyson's *' Princess," the poem is wanting in 
marked structural unity. The parts are beautiful ; and we can 
see, when we think, what they have to do with each other ; but 
they do not so grow together into one, that we feel that every 
part is absolutely necessary to the rest of the poem. 

We may, however, recognize these defects, but maintain that 
the poem is great in spite of them. If " The Vision of Sir 
Launfal" has lost anything from the rapidity of its com- 
position, it has gained more. It has caught in a manner per- 
haps unequalled by any other writer the spirit of " the higb 
tide of the year." It fairly throbs with the vitality so infec- 
tious as to carry us along with a delight few poems can in- 
spire. Again, if we accept Lowell's belief that " the proof of 
poetry is that it reduces to a single line the vague philosophy 
which is floating in all men's minds," we must accord a high 
place to " The Vision of Sir Launfal." The poem is the flower 
of the strong conviction of young manhood, a power making 
for righteousness. Lastly, if Lowell possessed the double 
nature he so often claimed, and the " Biglow Papers " show 
the humorous side at its finest, " The Vision of Sir Launfal " 
best represents the other ; it is the work of Lowell the enthusi- 
ast with his slight touch of mysticism. 

Suggestions for Teaching and Study 

In studying " The Vision of Sir Launfal," it is well first 
of all to note carefully the significance of the opening stanza. 



XXXVIU INTRODUCTION 

1£ wc take the poem from what this stanza would have us, as 
an improvisation, and as such permitted the liberty allowed 
in such composition, we shall more thoroughly catch its spirit 
and understand its structure. 

A teacher must use his own judgment in determining just 
\iow much study is called for by the text, just how much study 
of the meaning of words, of allusions, and of constructions. 
We must recognize that Lowell is not easy reading, and at 
the outset the teacher must see that the class have a fair 
understanding of the meaning of the more difficult lines. All 
definitions of words to be found in the usual dictionaries have 
been omitted, as have also, in most instances, the explanation 
of the numerous lines requiring class discussion and comment. 
Many passages to be committed so readily present them- 
selves as to require practically no suggestions. Again, each 
teacher must decide for himself what emphasis he will place 
on the moral of the Vision ; he nuiy well realize that the lesson 
is an integral part of the poem and has a distinct ethical value. 
Even as a lesson to be learned by heart, if it can be remem- 
bered, it is worth having; but if the student can actually 
realize a small part of what the poet felt in conceiving these 
face-to-face words with Christ, not to speak of what such a 
vision actually could be to one so privileged as to have it, if 
one's spirit actually is vitalized by such a thing as this, then 
other matters will seem of much less importance. 

A few books and poems for collateral reading may be sug- 
gested. Tennyson has treated the story of the search for the 
Holy Grail in his '' Sir Galahad " and " The Holy Grail." 
Chatterton's ^'^ An Excellent Balade of Charity," Longfellow's 
'^The Legend of the Beautiful Gate" and William Vaughn 
Moody's " Good Friday Night " offer some interesting points 
of comparison with " Sir Launfal." Lowell's " A Parable " 
gives us another presentation of the false and the true worship 
and love of Christ ; while the beginning of " Under the Wil- 
lows " and " Al Fresco " present two delightful descriptions 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL XXxix 

of June. Throiigli his poems Lowell has commemorated many 
of the events of his life. " She Came and Went," " The 
Changeling," and " The First Snowfall " are among the best 
of his autobiographic verses. Scudder's " Life of Lowell " 
(Houghton, Mifflin & Co.) is the best biography. Charles 
Eliot Norton has edited two volumes of Lowell's letters 
(Harper & Bros.). Lowell ranks among the best of letter 
writers in English. Edward Everett Hale's " James Eussell 
Lowell and His Friends" (Houghton, Mifflin & Co.) is also 
to be recommended. 

Questions for General Study and Review 

Why is it usually considered that the scene of the story is 
laid in England ? 

What do we learn from the poem of tJie customs of 
chivalry ? 

What lines sum up the lesson of the poem ? 

Make a list of the archaic words in the poem. Try to ex- 
plain in each instance why the poet chose the older form. 

What marked changes in the movement of the poem do you 
note? Try to discover in each instance how Lowell's mood 
shows itself in these variations. 

Study Lowell's use of contrasts. How has he employed it 
in the structure of the poem ? in its spirit ? in the movement ? 

Has the poet drawn many of his comparisons from nature ? 
Why? 

Compare the attitude shown toward nature in " The An- 
cient Mariner '' with that in " The A^ision of Sir Laiunfal." 

Compare this description of June with Eiley's '^ Knee-deep 
in June." How does the spirit of the one differ from that of 
the other? What things are of common interest to the two 
poets ? 



THE EIME^ OF 

THE ANCIENT MARINER 

IN SEVEN PARTS 
Part I. 



I. 



It is 2 an ancient Mariner,^ 

And he stoppeth one of three.^ 

" By thy long gray beard and glittering eye, 

Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? ^ 



II. 



An ancient 
Mariner meet- 
eth three gal- 
lants bidden 
to a wedding 
feast, and 
detaineth one. 



5 " The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, 
And I am next of kin ; ® 
The guests are met, the feast is set: 
May'st hear the merry din." 

III. 
He holds him with his skinny hand, 
10 « There was a ship," quoth he."^ 

'' Hold off ! unhand me, graybeard loon ! " 
Eftsoons his hand dropt he. 

» Rime.— hoo^ up the derivation of the word. 

2 What is gained by such an abrupt beginning of the story? 

3 Some one has said that the reader of the poem is the Wedding Guest. What does 
the statement mean, and is it true? Would anything be lost by referring through the 
poem to the Ancient Mariner as the old sail&rf 

* There are several artistic reasons for Coleridge's introducing the Wedding Guest 
instead of telling the story directly to the reader. Can you name three such reasons? 

6 Who utters lines 3 and 4? 

« How is the effect of abruptness produced in lines 6 and 7? 

7 What is gained by having the Ancient Mariner tell the story as happening to him- 
self rather than to some one else? 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINEB 



IV. 



The wedding- 
guest is spell- 
bound by the 
eye of the old 
seafaring man, 
and constrain- 
ed to hear his 
tale. 



The Mariner 
tells how the 
ship sailed 
southward 
with a good 
wind and fair 
weather, till 
it reached the 
Line. 



He holds him with his glittering eye ^ — - 
The wedding-guest stood still;, 
15 And listens like a three years' child: 
The Mariner hath his will. ' 



V. 



The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone; 
He cannot choose hut hear ; 
And thus spake on that ancient man. 
20 The bright-eyed - Mariner. 



VI. 



" The ship was cheered, the harbor cleared, 

Merrily did we drop 

Below the kirk, below the hill, 

Below the lighthouse top." 



VII. 



25 The Sun came up upon the left, 
Out of the sea came he ! 
And he shone bright, and on the right 
Went down into the sea.* 



VIII. 



Higher and higher every day, 
30 Till over the mast at noon "— 

The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, 
For he heard the loud bassoon.^ 

* Such a line as this, repeating with a slight variation a preceding line, is called a 
repetend. What is gained by means of this device? Find other illustrations of its use 
in this poem. Compate 1. 13 with 1. 9. W^hich force indicates the greater power? 

2 Which is the better epithet as applied to the Ancient Mariner's eyes, gliffaing or 
bright f Why? '^ 

3 Why at this point in his narrative should the Poet hurry so? What does the word 
"kirk " imply as to the piaceir 

* A poetical way of telling us what about the course of the vessel ? 

fi Bassoon. " During Coleridge''8 residence in Stowey his friend Poole reformed the 
church choir and added a bsi&sOon to its resourcfeiJ. Mrs. Stanford (" T. Poole and his 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



IX. 



The bride hath paced into the hall, 
Eed as a rose is she ; 
35 Nodding their heads before her goes ^ 
The merry minstrelsy. 



X. 



The Wedding- 
Guest heareth 
the bridal 
music; but 
the Mariner 
contiuueth his 
tale. 



The ship 
drawn by a 
storm toward 
the south pole. 



The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast. 
Yet he cannot clioose but hear; 
And thus spake on that ancient man, 
40 The bright-eyed Mariner.- 

XI. 

" And now the Storm-blast came, and he 
Was tyrannous and strong : 
He struck with his overtaking wings. 
And chased us south along.^ 

XII. 

45 With sloping masts and dipping prow. 

As who pursued with yell and blow 

Still treads the shadow of his foe. 

And forward bends his head, 

The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, 
50 And southward aye we fled'.* 

Friends,"" i, 247) happily suggests that this ' was the veiy original and prototype of the 
" loud bassoon " whose sound moved the wedding guest to beat his I)rea8t! ' " Camp- 
bell's Note. 

1 Why is the movement of 1. 35 especially good? Cf. "Christabel,'" 1. 65 : "The 
lonely maid and the lady tall are pacing both into the hall." Cf. also "The Ballad of 
the Dark Ladie" : *'But first the nodding minstrels go." What words in this stainza are 
especially suggestive and picturesque ? ■\ , ; 

2 Of what Btanza is this nearly a repetitioiff? Wbat is the Poet's purpose in such 
repetition?" ■''■■ " '' - ' - '■ ■■- ■■•" ■'■^■■■•■- - •:..:.■--...■ ^' - 

3 What poetic device adds greatly to the vividness of this stanza ? An earlier 
version (1798) reads:— - ' ^^ ;; : ;- . 

' ' " Listen, Stranger ! Storm and Wind, ' 

A Wind and Tempest strong ! - ■" s 

.\f.& s.:KCli2i; f?.-,' i;,:Eor days and weeks it play'd us f reaks.— 
liike Chaff we droye along," 

4 How does the Poet secure a rapidity'6f'ihovenierlt"reflectiilg-the speed of the shipr? 



6 



THE lilME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



XIII. 



The land of 
ice, and of 
fearful 

sounds, where 
no living 
thing was to 
be seen. 



Till a great 
sea-bird, 
called the 
Albatross, 
came through 
the snow-fog, 
and was re- 
ceived with 
great joy and 
ospitality. 



And now there came both mist and snow, 

And it grew wondrous cold: 

And ice, mast-high, came floating by. 



As green as emerald/ 

XIV. 



55 And through the drifts - the snowy clifts 
Did send a dismal sheen :^ 
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken — 
The ice was all between. 



XV. 



The ice was here, the ice was there, 
fi^ The ice was all around : 

It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, 
Like noises in a swound ! * 



XVI. 



At length did cross an Albatross ; 
Thorough the fog it came ; 
65 As if it had been a Christian soul. 
We hailed it in God's name. 



XVII. 



It ate the food it ne'er had eat,^ 
And round and round it flew. 
The ice did split with a thunder-fit; 
70 The helmsman steered us through ! 

This stanza implies perhaps as much as it expresses. What are some of the emotions it 
suggests ? " treads the shadow of his foe " .• what do you understand by this expression ? 

1 Read aloud this stanza, and determine what is its most significant word. Why ? 

2 " Drifts " probably means banks or clouds of mist. Would some such verb as 
cast be as effective as send ? 

• Sheen. What difference between the use of the word here and that in line 314? 

* What suggestion in this comparison, "like noises in a swound," makes it very 
effective ? 

' How does the reception of the albatross by the mariners and its actions during the 
flucceeding days increase the guilt of killing the bird ? 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



XVIII. 

And a good south wind ^ sprung up behind ; 

The Albatross did follow, 

And every day, for food or play, 

Came to the mariners' hollo ! 

XIX. 

75 In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, 
It perched for vespers nine ; - 
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, 
Glimmered the white moon-shine." 

XX. 



And lo! the 
Albatross 
proveth a bird 
of good omen , 
andfolloweth 
the ship as it 
returned 
northward, 
through fog 
and floating 



The ancient 
Mariner 
inhospitably 
killeth the 



" God save thee, ancient Mariner ! 
80 From the fiends, that plague thee thus ! — 

Why look'st thou so ? " ^— " With my cross-bow PJ,«od omen!"^ 
I shot the Albatross. 

Part II. 

XXI. ^ 

The Sun now rose upon the right : 
Out of the sea came he, 
85 Still hid in mist, and on the left 
Went down into the sea. 

XXII.* 

And the good south wind still blew behind, 
But no sweet bird did follow, 
Nor any day for food or play 
90 Came to the mariners' hollo! ,. .; .,;^" 

1 Note how the change in the direction of sailing is indicated. ■.■. j, ,^., 

2 What do you understand by " vesj)ers nine " ? 

3 What caused the Wedding Guest to interrupt the Ancient Mariner at this point ? 
Should the Mariner have told us more about the death of the bird ? What induced him 
to kill the albatross? Keep the last few lines in mind; you will have occasion to use 
them later. 

* Of what preceding lines are the four of this stanza repetends ? Why does tt^e 
poet lay such emphasis on the fog and mist ? 



8 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



His ship- 
inates cry out 
against the 
ancient Mari- 
ner, for killing 
the bird of 
good luck. 



But when the 
fog cleared 
off, they jus- 
tify the same, 
and thus make 
themselTes 
accomplices 
in the crime. 



Thefairbreeze 
continues; the 
ship enters the 
Pacific Ocean, 
and sails 
northward, 
even until it 
reaches the 
Line. 



The ship hath 
been suddenly 
becalmed. 



XXIII. 

And I had done an lu^llish thing. 
And it wonld work 'oni woe: ' 
For all averred, I had killed the bird 
That made the breeze to blow. 
9^ Ah wretch ! said they, the bird to slay, 
That made the breeze to blow ! 

XXIV. 

Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, 
The glorions Snn nprist: ^ 
Then all averred, I had killed the bird 
100 That bronght the fog and mist. 

'T was right, said they, such birds to slay. 
That bring the fog and mist." 

XXV. 

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, 
The furrow followed free ; * 
105 \Ye ^ere the first that ever burst '' 
Into that silent sea.^ 

XXVI. 

Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 
'T was sad as sad oould be ; 



1 What considerations induced the sailors to blame or to praise the Ancient Mariner 
for killing the bird ? 

' What other beautiful descriptions of sunrise do you find in poetry ? Compare this 
description with that given in Shakespeare's 33d Sonnet, and with that in "L' Allegro." 

• In thus excusing the death of the albatross, have the sailors done a greater or a less 
wrong than the Ancient Mariner ? 

• *' The furrow folloived free.'''' " In the Sibylline Leaves the line was printed ' The 
furrow stream'd off free.' And Coleridge puts this footnote: ' In a former edition the line 
was "The furrow followed free"; but I had not been long on board the ship before I 
perceived that this was the image as seen by a spectator from the shore, or from another 
vessel. From the ship itself the Wake appears like a brook flowing off from the stern,' 
But in 1828 and after the old line was restored." Campbell's Note. 

' Why is the word burst as used in this connection especially expressive ? Describe 
this " silent sea," as you imagine it. 

• Point out some other stanzas that have a rapid movement given by the rush 
of the rhythm. 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 9 

And we did speak only to break 
IJO Tlio silonce of the sea! ' 

XXVII. 

All in a hot and copper - sky. 
The blood}^ Sun, at noon, 
Eight np above the mast did stand, 
No bigger than the Moon. 

XXVIII. 

115 Day after da}^, day after day,'"^ 
We stuck, nor breath nor motion; 
As idle as a painted ship 
Upon a painted ocean. 

XXIX. 

Water, water, everywhere. And the an 

120 And all the boards did shrink; to be avenged. 
Water, water, everywhere, 
Nor any drop to drink. 

XXX. 

The very deep did rot: Christ! 
That ever this should be ! 
125 Yea, slimy ^ things did crawl with legs 
Upon the slimy sea. 

XXXI. 

About, about, in reel and rout ^ 
The death-fires danced at night; 

1 How is the movement in this stanza retarded ? What is the effect of the alliteration 
in this stanza ? 

2 W^hat qualities of the sky are implied in " copper " ? 

3 What is suggested by the repetition ? Can you find other passages in the poem 
where the same effect is produced by this same device ? What are the two most forceful 
words in this stanza ? What parts of speech are most powerful in giving life to 
a description ? 

* Why does the Poet dwell upon the rather disagreeable word " slimy" ? 
6 Compare with 1. 354. How is rapidity of movement secured in these lines ? Can 
you select any one adjective to express the impression made by this stanza ? 



10 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



The water, like a witch's oils, 
130 Burnt green, and blue, and white. 



XXXII. 
A spirit had 
followed 
them; one of 
the invisible 
inhabitants of 
this planet, 
neither de- 
parted souls 
nor angels; 

concerning whom the learned Jew, Josephus, and the Platonic Constantinopolitan, 
Michael Pselius, may be consulted. They are very numerous, and there is no climate 
or element without one or more. 2 



And some in dreams assured were 
Of the Spirit that plagued us so : 
Nine fathom deep he had followed us 
From the land of mist and snow.^ 



XXXIII. 

135 And every tongue, through utter drought, 
Was withered at the root ; 
We could not speak, no more than if 
We had been choked with soot. 

XXXIV. 

Ah ! well-a-da}^ ! what evil looks 
140 Had I from old and young ! 

Instead of the cross, the Albatross 
About my neck was hung.^ 

Part III. 

XXXV. 

There passed a weary time. Each throat 
Was parched, and glazed each eye. 
145 A weary time ! a weary time ! * 
The. ancient How glazed each weary eye, 

hSdSh^as'ign When lookiug westward, I beheld 

ifar^ofl!''"'^''* A something in the sky.^ 

1 Why should the spirit be angered at the death of the albatross ? Why nine fathoms, 
instead of eight or ten fathoms ? 

2 What is the Poet's purpose in naming the authorities he cites in the gloss ? 

' Is there any other reason, besides the desire of his companions to fix the guilt on the 
Ancient Mariner, for hanging the albatross about his neck ? 

■• What is the purpose of the repetitions in this stanza ? Is the same device used 
elsewhere in the poem for producing a similar effect ? 

* Why are we not told at once what the Mariner gees ? 



The ship- 
mates in their 
sore distress 
would fain 
throw the 
whole guilt on 
the ancient 
Mariner; in 
sign whereof 
they hang the 
dead sea-bird 
round his 
neck. 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



11 



XXXVI. 

At first it seemed a little speck, 
150 And then it seemed a mist; 

It moved and moved, and took at last 

A certain shape, I wist. 
xxxvii. 

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist ! ^ 

And still it neared and neared : 
155 As if it dodged a water-sprite. 

It plunged and tacked and veered. 

XXXVIII. 

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked. 
We could not laugh nor wail ; 
Through utter drought all dumb we stood ! 
160 I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, 
And cried, A sail ! a sail ! - 

1 XXXIX. 

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked. 
Agape they heard me call: 
Gramercy ! ^ they for joy did grin,* 
165 And all at once their breath drew in. 
As they were drinking all. 

XL. 

See! see (I cried) she tacks no more! 
Hither to work us weal ; 
Without a breeze, without a tide, 
170 She steadies with upright keel ! 



At its nearer 
approach, it 
Bcemeth him 
to be a ship; 
and at a dear 
ransom he 
freeth his 
gpeech from 
the bonds of 
thirst. 



A flash of joy 



And horror 
follows. For 
can it be a 
ship that 
comes onward 
without wind 
or tide ? 

1 What is the Poet's purpose in thus gathering the content of the preceding stanza 
into a single line? How are we made aware of the supernatural character of the 

approaching ship ? .^ , « 

2 Which is the more poetic, this stanza or the gloss ? 

3 Derivation and meaning ? . ^ . r -o ++!„ 

4 For joy did grin. "I took the thought of grinning for joy from poor Burnett s 
rPtnark to me when we had climbed to the top of Plinlimraon and were nearly dead with 

h'st We co."d not speak for the constriction till we found a little puddle under a 
stone He said to me. ^ You grinned like an idiot.' He had done the same." Coleridge, 
''Table-talk." May 31, 1830 (second edition), 11. 185-189. 



12 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



XLI. 

The western wave was all a-flame. 
The day was well-nigh done ! ^ 
Almost upon the western wave 
Rested the broad bright Sun; 
175 When that strange shape drove - suddenly 
Betwixt us and the Sun. 



It seemeth 
him but the 
skeleton of a 
ship. 



And its ribB 
are seen as 
bars on the 
face of the eet- 
ting Sun. 
The Spectre- 
Woman and 
her Death- 
mate, and no 
other on board 
the skeleton- 
ship. 



Like vessel, 
like crew! 



XLII. 

And straight the Sun was flecked with bars, 
(Heaven^s Mother send us grace!) 
As if through a dungeon-grate he peered, 
180 With broad and burning face.^ 

XLIII.* 

Alas ! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) 
How fast she nears and nears ! 
Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, 
Like restless gossameres ? ^ 

XLIV. 

185 Are those her ribs through which the Sun 
Did peer as through a grate? 
And is that Woman all her crew ? 
Is that a Death? and are there two? 
Is Death that Woman's mate ? 

XLV. 

190 Her lips were red, her looks were free. 
Her locks were yellow as gold : ^ 



* Why is it especially effective to have the ship appear at sunset ? 

2 What is the significance of the drove ? Can you substitute a better word ? 

3 Describe the sight the Ancient Mariner witnessed. 

* What device through this stanza and the next makes more vivid the growing terror 
of the Ancient Mariner ? 

* Look up the derivation of goftsameres. 

* Is anything gained by making Life-in-Death partially beautiful ? Cf. with Lady 
Geraldine in "Christabel." lAff-in- Death. Cf. Tennyson's " Tears, Idle Tears ": "O 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



13 



Her skin was white as leprosy, 

The Night-Mare Life-in-Death was she, 

Who thicks man's hlood with cold. 

XLVI.^ 

1*^^ The naked hulk alongside came, 
And the twain were casting dice ; - 
' The game is done ! I've won, I've won ! ' 
Quoth she, and whistles thrice. 

XLVII. 

The Sun's rim dips ; the stars rush out : 
200 At one stride comes the dark ; 

With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea, 
Olt' shot the spectre-bark." 

XLVllI. 

We listened and looked sideways up ! 
Fear at my heart, as at a cup, 
205 My life-blood seemed to sip ! 

The stars were dim, and thick the niglit. 



Death and 
Life-in- 
Death have 
diced for the 
ship's crew, 
and she (the 
latter)winneth 
the ancient 
Mariner. 



No twilight 
within the 
courts of the 
Sun. 



At the rising 
of the Moon. 



\ 



Death in Life, the days that are no more." Cf. also Coleridge's Epitaph at the end of 
the biography. The version of 1798 reads thus : 



"Are those her naked ribs, which fleck'd 
The sun that did behind them peer ? 
And are those two all, all the crew, 
That woman and her fleshlees Pheere ? 

IBs bones were black with many a crack, 
All black and bare, I ween; 
Jet-black and bare, save where the rust 
Of mouldy damps and charnel crust 
They're patch'd with purple and green. 

Her lips are red, her looks are free, 
He7'\ocks are yellow as gold : 
Her skin is as white as leprosy, 
And she is far liker Death than he : 
The flesh makes the still air cold. 



The naked Hulk alongside came 

And the twain were casting dice; 

' The Game is done! Ive won, I've won! ' 

Quoth she and whistled thrice. 

A gust of wind starts up behind 

And whistled thro' his bones: 

Thro' the holes of his eyes and the hole of 

his mouth 
Half-whistles and half-groans. 
With never a whisper in the Sea 
Off darts the Spectre-ship; 
While clombe above the Eastern bar 
The horned Moon, with one bright Star 
Almost atween the tips. 
One after one by the horned moon 
(Listen, O Strangerl to me)." 



1 Notice how much the gloss adds in explaining this stanza. 

2 What was to be the fate of the Ancient Mariner ? 

3 What is the effect of so many one-syllabled words in this stanza ? What else con- 
tributes to the rapidity of motion ? Compare this stanza with stanza xxxv. Explain 
the gloss. 



14 



THE KIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



One after 
another, 



His shipmates 
drop down 
dead; 



But Life-in- 
Death begins 
her work on 
the ancient 
Mariner. 



The steersman^s face by his lamp gleamed 

white ; 
From the sails the dew did drip — 
Till clomb above the eastern bar 
210 The horned Moon, with one bright star 
Within the nether tip.^ 

XLIX. 

One after one, by the star-dogged Moon, 
Too quick for groan or sigh, 
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, 
215 And cursed - me with his eye. 

L. 

Four times fifty living men, 
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan) 
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump/ 
They dropped down one by one. 

LI. 

220 The souls did from their bodies fly, — 
They fled to bliss or Avoe ! 
And every soul, it passed me by. 
Like the whizz of my cross-bow ! " 

Part IV. 



LII. 



■? 4 



The wedding- > " J fear thcc, ancicut Mariner . 

guest feareth 

that a spirit is 225 J fear thv skiuny hand ! 

taJlimgtohini; 

And thou art long, and lank, and brown. 
As is the ribbed sea-sand.^ 

* Can you see any reason for the Poefs making this the longest stanza of the poem ? 
What feeling is delicately suggested in the first line ? Notice carefully the details used 
in this stanza, and then describe the night. Does the moon add brightness to the scene? 
The meaning of bar ? It has been objected that a star could not be within the tips of 
the moon. Should Coleridge have changed these lines to accord with facts ? 

' Where later in the poem is the curse again referred to ? Does it become more or 
less terrible to the Ancient Mariner ? 

' Does the Poet gain or lose by using the rather ordinary words rhymed in 1. 218 ? 

^ What causes the Wedding Guest to fear ? 

5 LI. 226-?37 were suggested by Wordsworth. Is the comparison a happy one ? 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 15 



LIII. 



I fear thee and tliy glittering eye, 
And thy skinny hand so brown."— 
230 « Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest! 
This body dropped not down. 



LIV. 

Alone, alone, all, all alone, 
Alone on a wide, wide sea ! ' 
And never a saint took pity on 
235 My soul in agony. 

LV. 

1 -t;^!,! t 2 He deepiseth 

The many men, so neautiiui i the creatures 

n T T Ti A-^. of the calm. 

And they all dead did lie : 

And a thousand thousand slimy things 

Lived on ; and so did I. 

LVI. 

And envieth 



240 I looked upon the rotting sea, thatfhey 

And drew my eyes away ; InTso many 

I looked upon the rotting deck, "edead. 
And there the dead men lay. 

LVII. 

I looked to Heaven and tried to pray; 
245 But or ever a prayer had gusht, 
A wicked whisper came, and made 
My heart as dry as dust.^ 

1 Can you conceive of any punishment more terrible for the Mariner tb^n toJ,e ^^ut np 

alone with these dead men ' What is the effect of the repetition of the word aloner How 

thl" eling of tolation of the Ancient Mariner preserved throughout the w^ole poem v 

.Why sLuld he call the men beautiful ? The student will be "^^^^^^^^ ^ ^^f ^^, 

ing threxperiences of the Ancient Mariner with those of Christian in the first por ion of 

Bunyan's ''Pilgrim's Progress,'' especially wnen Christian sees the Cross. Notice the 

adjectives used in describing the scene. ,, , k , f^ui «7hat thp wicked 

3 Would the effect have been more terrible if we had been told what the wicKea 

whisper was ? 



16 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



LVIII. 

I closed my lids, and kept them close. 
And the balls like" pulses beat ; 
.250 YoT the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky 
Lay like a load on my weary eye, 
And the dead were at my feet.^ 

LIX. 

nJeVh'foTMm The cold sweat melted from their limbs, 

in the eye of ^or rot nor rcck did they : 

the dead men. -^ 

255 The look with which they looked on me 
Had never passed away. 

LX. 

An orphan's curse would drag to Hell 
A spirit from on high; 
But oh ! more horrible than that 
260 Is a curse in a dead man's eye ! 

Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, 
And yet I could not die. 

LXI.- 



The moving Moon went up the sky, 
And nowhere did abide: 
265 Softly she was going up, 
And a star or two beside — 



In his loneli- 
ness and fixed- 
ness he yearn- 
eth towards 
the journey- 
ing Moon, and 
the stars that 
still sojourn, 
yet still move 

onward; and everywhere the blue sky belongs to them, and is their appointed rest, and 
their native country and their own natural homes, which they enter unannounced, as 
lords that are certainly expected, and yet there is a silent joy at their arrival. 

LXII.- 

Her beams bemocked the -sultry main, 
Like April hoar-frost spread ; 

> Compare with "Macbeth," Act I, Sc. Ill, 1. 19, sq. Note how Coleridge fills out 
the suggestions made by Shakespeare. If you have ever hiid a severe fever, recall how 
your eyes and temples throbbed. How does the movement of the third line reflect the 
suffering of the Ancient Mariner ? 

2 Which is more beautiful, these two stanzas or the accompanying gloss ? Defend 
your answers. Does any word suggest the possibility of coming relief ? 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



17 



By the light of 
the Moon he 
beholdeth 
God's crea- 
tures of the 
great calm. 



But where the ship's huge shadow la}^ 
270 The charmed^ water l)urnt alwa}' 
A still and awful red. 

LXIII. 

Beyond the shadow of the ship, 
I watched the water-snakes : 
They moved in tracks of shining white, 
275 And when they reared, the elfish light 
Fell off in hoary flakes.- 

LXIV. 

Within the shadow of the ship, 
I watched their rich attire: 
Blue, glossy green, and velvet hlack, 
280 They coiled and swam ; and every track 
Was a flash of golden fire. 

LXV. 

happy living things ! '^ no tongue 
Their beauty might declare : 

284 A spring of love gushed from my heart,* 
And I blessed them unaware : 
Sure my kind saint took pity on me. 
And I blessed them unaware. 

LXVI. 

The selfsame moment I could pray; 
And from my neck so free 
290 The x\lbatross fell off and sank 
Like lead into the sea.^ 

1 Charmed has an interesting and significant derivation. ^ ^ , . ,, 

^ How do the contrasting colors of the water within and without the shadow of the 
ship reflect the Mariner's spiritual condition ? What words in this description hint at 
the supernatural in the scene ? Compare the appearance of the snakes within the shadow 
of the ship with that of those beyond. Which are the more beautiful ? 

3 How has he spoken of the water snakes before ? What induces him now to regard 

them differently ? 

* With what preceding line may we contrast 1. 284? 

s Would this division have been more effective if the punishment of the Manner had 



Their beauty 
and their hap- 
piness. 



He blcpseth 
them in his 
heart. 



The spell be- 
gins to break. 



18 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



By grace of 
the holy 
Mother, the 
ancient Mari- 
ner is re- 
freshed with 
rain. 



He heareth 
sounds, and 
seeth strange 
eights and 
commotions 
in the sky and 
the element. 



Part V. 

LXVII. 

sleep ! it is a gentle thing, 
Beloved from pole to pole ! 

To Mary Queen the praise be given ! 
295 She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven, 
That slid into my soul.^ 

LXVIII. 

The silly - buckets on the deck, 
That had so long remained, 

1 dreamt that they were filled with dew ; 
300 And when I awoke, it rained.^ 

LXIX. 

My lij^s were wet, my throat was cold. 
My garments all were dank ; 
Sure I had drunken in my dreams. 
And still my body drank."* 

LXX. 

305 I moved, and could not feel my limbs : 
I was so light — almost 
I thought that I had died in sleep. 
And was a blessed ghost.^ 



LXXI. 

And soon I heard a roaring wind : 
310 It did not come anear ; 

been described more fully ? Can you find other illustrations in literature or in life where 
men by blessing others have blessed themselves ? Is there any reason for having the 
release of the Ancient Mariner come in the middle division of the poem ? 

> How has Coleridge spoken of sleep in " Christabel " ? How has Shakespeare, in the 
second act of " Macbeth " ? What is the effect of the alliteration in the last line ? Do 
you note in this part any other cases of effective alliteration ? 

2 Trace in the dictionary the changes in meaning of silly. 

• How long has his torture from thirst lasted ? 

* Is any word of this stanza employed in an unusual manner ? 

5 Is this change of feeling due to more than one cause ? What is the exact sig- 
nificance of a blessed ghost ? 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 19 

But with its sound it shook the sails, 
That were so thin and sere.^ 

LXXII. 

The upper air burst into life ! 
And a hundred fire-flags sheen,- 
315 To and fro they were hurried about ! 
And to and fro, and in and out," 
The wan stars danced between.^ 

r 

LXXIII. 

^ And the coming wind did roar more loud, 
And the sails did sigh like sedge ; ^ 
320 And the rain poured down from one black 
cloud ; 
The Moon was at its edge. 

LXXIV. 

The thick black cloud was cleft, and still 
The Moon was at its side : 
Like waters shot from some high crag, 
325 The lightning fell with never a jag/' 
A river steep and wide.'' 

LXXV. 

The loud wind never reached the ship, K?p4^' ""^ 

Yet now the ship moved on ! spired's'ind 

Beneath the lightning and the Moon theshipmoves 
330 The dead men gave a groan. 

1 Why are the adjectives used in describing the sails especially good ones ? 

2 What must we supply in 1. 314 to complete the sentence ? 

3 What is the effect of the additional line in this stanza ? 

* Compare this scene with that described in stanza xxxi. Which is the more vivid, 
and why ? Would the picture have been more effective if the stars had been hidden 

from view ? 

5 Why does the Poet refer so repeatedly to the sound made by the sails ? 

« What previous illustrations have we noted of Coleridge's use of strong, homely 
words ? 

7 Describe this scene in your own words. 

8 Can you discover later in the poem the force that causes the ship to move on ? 
What is the Poet's purpose in representing the ship's crew as '* inspired'' ? 



20 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MAHTNER 



LXXVI. 

They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose 
Nor sj^oke, nor moved their eyes; 
It had been strange, even in a dream, 
To have seen those dead men rise. 

LXXVII. 

335 Tiie helmsman steered, the ship moved on ; 

Yet never a breeze up blew ; 

The mariners all ^gan work the ropes. 

Where they were wont to do ; 

They raised their limbs like lifeless tools — 
340 wtq were a ghastly crew/ 

LXXVTII. 

The body of my brother's son 
Stood by me, knee to knee : 
The body and I pulled at one rope, 
344 But he said nought to me.'^ 

LXXIX 

But not bythe " X fear thee, ancient Mariner ! " - 

souls of the 

men, nor by " Be calm, thou Wcddiuo^-Guest ! 

demons of . 

the earth or 'T was not thosc souls that fled in pain, 

middle air, but . , , . . 

by a blessed Which to their corscs came again, 

geiic spirits, But a troop of Spirits blest : ^ 

sent down by 

the invocation 

of the guar- LXXX. 

dian saint. 

350 For when it dawned — they dropped their arms. 
And clustered round the mast; 

> Wordsworth suggested that the dead men sail the ship. What word in this stanza 
well represents the feelings of the Ancient Mariner ? How does this stanza accord with 
the fate allotted to the Mariner ? 

2 The last interruption of the Wedding Guest. Does his fear seem as great as at the 
preceding interruptions ? 

' Where later in the poem are these spirits again mentioned ? 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 21 

Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, 
And from their bodies passed. 

LXXXI. 

Around, around, flew each sweet sound, 
^^^ Then darted to the Sun; 

Slowly the sounds came back again, 
Now mixed, now one by one. 

LXXXII. 

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky 
T heard the skylark sing; 
360 Sometimes all little birds that are. 

How they seemed to fill the sea and air 
With their sweet jargoning! ^ 

LXXXIII. 

And now 't was like all instruments, 
N"ow like a lonely iiute ; 
365 And now it is an angel's song. 
That makes the Heavens be mute. 

LXXXIV. 

It ceased; 5^et still the sails made on 
A pleasant noise till noon, 
A noise like of a hidden brook 
370 In the leafy month of June, 

That to the sleeping woods all night 
Singeth a quiet tune.- 

1 Does the Ancient Mariner really hear these birds sing, or do the sounds made by 
the spirits resemble the songs of the different birds ? The conception of the skylark 
as singing at a great height is a favorite one with poets. Cf. Shelley's " Skylark," the 
first stanza; Shakespeare's 29th Sonnet; "L'Allegro," 1. 49, sq. What is the exact 
meaning of jargoning .^ 

2 A certain critic has regarded this as the most beautiful stanza of the poem. Should 
you agree with him ? What musical words and what pictures suggested contribute to 



22 



THE fllME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



The lonesome 
spirit from the 
south pole car- 
ries on the ship 
as far as the 
line, in obedi- 
ence to the an- 
gelic troop, but 
still requireth 
vengeance. 



LXXXV. 

Till noon we quietly sailed on. 
Yet never a breeze did breathe : 
375 Slowly and smoothly went the ship, 
Moved onward from beneath. 

LXXXVl/ 

Under the keel nine fathom deep, 
From the land of mist and snow. 
The spirit slid : and it was he 
380 That made the ship to go. 

The sails at noon left off their tune. 
And the ship stood still also. 

LXXXVII. 

• The Sun, right up above the mast. 
Had fixed her to the ocean : 
385 But in a minute she 'gan stir,- 
With a short uneasy motion — 
Backwards and forwards half her length 
With a short uneasy motion. 

LXXXVIII. 

Then like a pawing horse let go, 
390 She made a sudden bound : 
It flung the blood into my head, 
And I fell down in a swound. 



the beauty of the stanza ? Why do you imagine the poet chose to drop these four stanzas 

which followed stanza lxxxiv in the version of 1798 ? 

" Listen, O listen, thou Wedding-guest! " Never sadder tale was heard 

" Marinere! thou hast thy will: By a man of woman born: 

For that which comes out of thine eye, The Marineres all return'd to work 

doth make As silent as beforne. 

My body and soul to be still." 



" Never sadder tale was told 
To a man of woman born : 
Sadder and wiser than wedding-guest 
Thou 'It rise to-morrow morn. 



The Marineres all 'gan pull the ropes. 
But look on me they n' old : 
Thought I, I am as thin as air — 
They cannot me behold." 



1 Compare the gloss with that of stanza xxv. Are they contradictory ? Have we 
any hint given as to the subsequent course of the vessel ? 

" What purpose is served by the shifting of accents in this line and 387 ? 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



23 



LXXXIX. 

How long in that same fit I lay, 
I have not to declare; 
395 But ere my living life ^ returned, 
I heard and in my soul discerned 
Two voices in the air. 

XC.2 

^ Is it he? ' quoth one, ^ Is this the man? 
By him who died on cross, 
400 With his cruel how he laid full low 
The harmless Albatross. 



The Polar 
Spirit's fel- 
low-demons, 
the invisible 
inhabitants of 
the element, 
take part in 
his wrong; 
and two of 
them relate, 
one to the 
other, that 
penance long 
and heavy for 
the ancient 
Mariner hath 
been accorded 
to the Polar 
Spirit, who 
returneth 
Bouthward. 



XCI. 

The spirit who bideth by himself 
In the land of mist and snow, 
He loved the bird that loved the man 
405 Who shot him with his bow.' ^ 

XCII. 

The other was a softer voice, 

As soft as honey-dew : 

Quoth he, ' The man hath penance done, 

And penance more will do.' * 



1 Would conscious life express all Coleridge would imply in living life? 

2 What does the Poet mean by speaking in the gloss of these spirits as demons? Reread 
the motto at the beginning of the poem. Compare the nature of these spirits with that 
of the witches of " Macbeth." What motive is represented by each of these voices ? 
Why are these special two chogen ? Is there any significance in the kind of bow 
used by the Mariner ? 

'Where does the Ancient Mariner himself lay emphasis on the value of love ? 

* Why not shall do instead of will do? Trace through the remainder of the poem the 
fulfilment of the spirit's prophecy of the further penance of the Ancient Mariner. Is 
the penance shown in the rest of the poem as severe as that of the past ? 



24 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 

Pakt VI. 
XCIII. 

First Voice.^ 
410 ^ But tell me, tell me ! speak again, 
Thy soft response renewing — 
What makes that ship drive on so fast ? 
What is the Ocean doing ? ' 

xciv. 
Second Voice. 

^ Still as a slave before his lord, 
415 The Ocean hath no blast; 

His great bright eye most silently 
Up to the Moon is cast — - 

xcv. 
If he may know which way to go ; 
For she guides him smooth or grim. 
420 See, brother, see ! how graciously 
She looketh down on him.^ 

XOVI. 

First Voice. 
hath^een^cast ^ But why drivcs ou that ship so fast, 

forthe^angS Without or wave or wind ? ' 

power caueeth 

the vessel to SeCOND VoICE. 

drive north- 

tTan hSman ' The air is cut away before, 

enduT^*^ *2^ And closes from behind. 

XCVII. 

Fly, brother, fly ! more high, more high ! 
Or we shall be belated : 

* Why does the Poet resort to the device of introducing these two voices ? Why not 
begin this part with 1. 430 ? 

a State in your own language the central thought of this stanza. Do you find any 
other instances of the Poet's stating common facts in very beautiful language ? 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 25 

For slow and slow that ship will go,^ 
When the Mariner's trance is abated/ 

XCVIII. 

.,. The supernat- 

430 I woke, and we were sailing on urai motion is 

^ ' , retarded; the 

As in a gentle weather: Mariner 

'T was night, calm night, the Moon was high; JJ^^JIJ^^c^ 

^ , T , ,1 begins anew. 

The dead men stood together. 

XCIX. 

All stood together on the deck, 
435 For a charnel-dnngeon fitter : 
All fixed on me their stony eyes, 
That in the Moon did glitter. 

c. 
The pang, the curse, with which they died, 
Had never passed away: 
440 I could not draw my eyes from theirs, 
Nor turn them up to pray.^ 

CI. 

Th(* cursG IS 

And now this spell was snapt : once more g^aiiy expi- 

, , ated. 

I viewed the ocean green. 
And looked far forth, yet little saw 
445 Of what had else been seen — 

CII. 

Like one, that on a lonesome road 
Doth walk in fear and dread. 
And having once turned round walks on 
And turns no more his head ; 
450 Because he knows a frightful fiend 
Doth close behind him tread.^ 

1 Why cannot the Mariner pray ? m what sense are they 

^ What causes the Mariner'8 fear ? Cf. with stanza xii. In what sense tney 

. corresponding stanzas ? 



26 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 

cm. 

But soon there breathed a wind on me. 
Nor sound nor motion made : 
Its path was not upon the sea, 
455 In ripple or in shade.^ 

CIV. 

It raised my ha^'r, it fanned my cheek 
Like a meadow-gale of spring — 
It mingled strangely with my fears. 
Yet it felt like a welcoming. 

cv. 

460 Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, 
Yet she sailed softly too : 
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze — 
On me alone it blew. 

cvi. 

d?nt Ma?£er ^^ ' ^^^am of joy ! is this indeed 

behoideth his 465 The liffht-house top I see ? 

native ^ ^ 

country jg -^his the hill ? is this the kirk ? 

Is this mine own countree ? ^ 

CVII. 

We drifted o'er the harbor-bar. 
And I with sobs did pray — 
470 let me be awake, my God ! 
Or let me sleep alway.^ 

» Where do we receive the first intimation that the voyage is about to end ? Would 
this portion of the poem have been more effective if we had been told more in detail of 
the return of the ship ? Where have we noted a similar rapidity in the movement of the 
story ? 

2 In what preceding passage has strong emotion been indicated by the use of the 
interrogation ? Compare with stanza vi. Of. also with Longfellow's " Lighthouse" : 
" The mariner remembers when a child 
On his first voyage he saw it fade and sink; 
And when returning from adventures wild, 
He saw it rise again o'er ocean's brink." 
» Why is it natural the Mariner should fear this sight is but a dream ? 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 



27 



CVIII. 

The harbor-bay was clear as ghiss, 
So smoothly it was strewn ! 
And on the bay the moonlight lay, 
^75 And the shadow ^ of the moon. 

cix. 
The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, 
That stands above the rock : 
The moonlight steeped in silentness - 
The steady weathercock.^ 

ex. 

480 And the bay was white with silent light. 
Till rising from the same. 
Full many shapes, that shadows were. 
In crimson colors came. 

CXI. 

A little distance from the prow 
485 Those crimson shadows were: 
I turned my eyes upon the deck — 
Oh, Christ ! what saw I there ! * 

* Is shadow here used in its ordinary sense ? 
2 Suggestive of Remorse^ iv, 3. 

" The many clouds, the sea, the rocks, the sands 
Lie in the silent moonshine." 

s Which is the more impressive, the departure of the ship amid cheers or its 
return in silence ? Here were inserted in the edition of 1798 five stanzas : 



The angelic 
spirits leave 
the dead 
bodies, 



And appear 
in their own 
forms of light. 



The moonlight bay was white all o'er 
Till rising from the same, 
Full many shapes, that shadows were, 
Like as of torches came. 

A little distance from the prow 
Those dark-red shadows were; 
But soon I saw that my own flesh 
Was red as in a glare. 



They lifted up their stiff white arms, 
They held them straight and tight ; 
And each right arm burnt like a torch, 
A torch that's borne upright, 
Their stony eyeballs glittered on 
In the red and smoky light. 



I pray'd and turn'd my head away 
Forth looking as before. 
There was no breeze upon the bay, 
No wave against the shore. 



I turn'd my head in fear and dread. 
And by the holy rood. 
The bodies had advanced and now 
Before the mast they stood. 

* Why had the Ancient Mariner failed to notice this spectacle before ? 



28 THE KIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 

CXII. 

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat, 
And, by the holy rood ! 
490 A man all light, a seraph-man. 
On every corse there stood. 

CXIII. 

This seraph-band, each waved his hand ; 
It was a heavenly sight ! 
They stood as signals to the land, 
495 Each one a lovely light ; ^ 

CXIV. 

This seraph-band, each waved his hand. 
No voice did they impart — 
No voice ; but oh ! the silence sank 
Like music on my heart. 

cxv. 

500 But soon I heard the dash of oars, 
I heard the Pilot's cheer; 
My head was turned perforce away. 
And I saw a boat appear.- 

cxvi. 

The Pilot, and the Pilot's boy, 
505 I heard them coming fast : 

Dear Lord in Heaven ! it was a joy 
The dead men could not blast.^ 

> Compare this scene with that of stanza lxxix. 

' After this stanza appeared in the 1798 version the following : 

Then vanished all the lovely lights ; 

The bodies rose anew: 

With silent pace, each to his place. 

Came back the ghastly crew. 

The wind that shade nor motion made. 

On me alone it blew, 

8 The meaning of blast ? 



THE KIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 29 

CXVII. 

1 saw a third — I heard his voice : 
It is the Hermit good ! 

510 He singeth loud his godly hymns 
That he makes in the wood. 
He'll shrive my soul, he'll wash away 
The Albatross's blood.^ 

Part VII. 

CXVIII. 

This Hermit s^ood lives in that wood^ The Hermit of 

° the Wood. 

515 Which slopes down to the sea. 

How loudly his sweet voice he rears ! 
He loves to talk with marineres 
That come from a far countree. 

cxix. 
•He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve — 
520 He hath a cushion plump : 

It is the moss that wholly hides 
The rotted old oak-stump.^ 

cxx. 

The skiff -boat neared : I heard them talk, 
" Why, this is strange, I trow ! 
525 Where are those lights so many and fair, 
That signal made but now ? " 

cxxi. 

'' Strange, by my faith ! " the Hermit said— ^hSp wUh 
" And they answered not our cheer ! wonder. 

' Do the last two lines serve any purpose beyond portraying the feelings of the 
Ancient Mariner ? Does the hermit " wash away the Albatross's blood " ? 

2 How does this man differ from the ordinary conception of a hermit ? Where have 
we found countree' similarly spelled and accented ? Has the poet any justification, besides 
that of producing a rhyme, for thus changing the accent ? 

8 Would anything be lost to the poem by the omission of this stanza ? 



80 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 

The planks looked warped ! and see those sails, 
530 How thin they are and sere ! ^ 
I never saw aught like to them, 
Unless p0Tchanee it were 

CXXII. 

Brown skeletons of leaves that lag 
My forest-brook along; 
535 When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, 
And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, 
That eats the she-wolf's young." ^ 

CXXIII. 

'^ Dear Lord ! it hath a fiendish look — 
(The Pilot made reply) 
540 I am a-feared " — " Push on, push on ! " 
Said the Hermit cheerily. 

cxxiv. 

The boat came closer to the ship. 
But I nor spake nor stirred ; 
The boat came close beneath the ship, 
545 And straight a sound was heard. 

cxxv.^ 

The ship sud- Under the water it rumbled on, 

en y siu -e . ^ii\\ louder and more dread : 

It reached the ship, it split the bay; 
The ship went down like lead.* 

CXXVI. 

550 Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, 
Which sky and ocean smote, 

* What adjectives liave been used before in describing the appearance of the sails ? 

2 With what feelings does the hermit regard the ship ? 

3 What is the effect of the irregularity in the metrical structure of the first line of 
this statiza ? 

* Where has the comparison in this line been usea before ? In which place is 
the comparison the more appropriate ? 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MAKINER 



81 



Like one that hatli been seven days drowned 
My body lay afloat; 
But swift as dreams, myself I found 
555 Within the Pilot's boat. 

CXXVII. 

Upon the whirl, where sank the ship. 
The boat spun round and round ; 
And all was still, save that the hill 
Was telling of the sound. 

CXXVIII. 

560 I moved my lips — the Pilot shrieked 
And fell down in a fit; 
The Holy Hermit raised his eyes. 
And T3rayed where he did sit. 

CXXIX. 

I took the oars : the Pilot's boy, 
5G5 Who now doth crazy go. 

Laughed loud and long, and all the while 
His eyes went to and fro. 
^ Ha ! ha ! ^ quoth he, ' full plain I see,' 
The Devil knows how to row.^ ^ 

cxxx. 

570 And now, all in my own countree, 
I stood on the firm land ! 
The Hermit stepped forth from the boat. 
And scarcely he could stand. 

CXXXI. 

^ shrive me, shrive me, holy man ! ' ^ 
575 The Hermit crossed his brow. 



The ancient 
Mariner 
earnestly en- 
treateth the 
Hermit to 
shrive him; 
and the pen- 
ance of life 
falls on him. 



1 What, besides the mysterious disappearance of the ship, induces the pilot's boy to 
mistake the Ancient Mariner for the Devil, and the hermit to ask, " What manner of 
mafi art thou? " 

' What added idea of the Ancient Mariner's penance do we get from the gloss ? 



82 THE KIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 

^ Say quick/ quoth he, ' I bid thee say — 
What manner of man art thou ? ^ 

CXXXII. 

Foithwith this frame of mine was wrenched 
With a wof ul agony, 
580 Which forced me to begin my tale; 
And then it left me free. 

CXXXIII. 

^mmthrougif Sincc then, at an uncertain hour, 

H?e an att7 That agony returns ; 

h?m to1?avei ^^^ *^^^ ^^ ghastly tale is told, 

from land to 585 This heart within me burns. 

land. 

CXXXIV. 

I pass, like night, from land to land ; ^ 
I have strange power of speech ; 
That moment that his face I see, 
I know the man that must hear me : 
590 To him my tale I teach. 

cxxxv. 

What loud uproar bursts from that door ! 
The wedding-guests are there: 
But in the garden-bower the bride 
And bride-maids singing are: ^ 

595 And hark the little vesper-bell. 
Which biddeth me to prayer ! ^ 

CXXXVI. 

Wedding-Guest ! this soul hath been 
Alone on a wide wide sea: 

> '■'I pass, like night. '^ "What different ideas are implied in this comparison ? Should 
this explanation of the spell exerted by the Ancient Mariner have been given ns at the 
beginning of the poem ? " Coleridge had the striking thought that possibly the punish- 
ment of a future life may consist in bringing back the consciousness of the Past." 
Eobinson's Diary: ii, 129. 

2 To what preceding stanza are we here brought back ? How do the last two lines 
prepare us for the rest of the poem ? 



THE KIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 33 

So lonely H was, that God himself 
600 Scarce seemed there to he. 

CXXXVII. 

sweeter than the marriage-feast, 
'T is sweeter far to me, 
To walk together to the kirk 
With a goodly company ! — ^ 

CXXXVITI. 

605 To walk together to the kirk, 
And all together pray, 
While each to his great Father hends. 
Old men, and hahes, and loving friends, 
And youths and maidens gay ! 

CXXXIX.^ 

J j_i • T 4^ 11 And to teach 

610 "Farewell, farewell I hut this i teii by Mb own 

itiicvv^i, example, love 

To thee thou Wedding-brUest I and reverence 

10 Lliec, txiuu , , ,1 11 to all things 

He nraveth well, who lovetn weii thatGodmade 

r J ^ , . T T 1 i. and loveth. 

Both man and bird and beast. 

CXL. 

He prayeth best, who loveth best 
615 All things both great and small ; 
For the dear God who loveth us. 
He made and loveth all." 

CXLI. 

The Mariner, whose eye is bright. 
Whose beard with age is hoar, 

, ^^ru .Honlcl the Marhier now love to walk to the kirk with a goodly company ? 

1 \V hy should the Marnier now gucceeding stanza ? Has this same word 

2 What is the key word of this and the encceeai k -Religious 
served a similar purpose in any preceding portion of the poem ? Cf . witn 

Musings " : ,^- a 

" There is one Mind, one omnipresent Mina, 
Omnific, His most holy name is Love, 
Views all creation : and He loves it all, 
And blesses it and calls it very good." 



34 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 

^-^ Is gone : ^ and now the Wedding-Guest 
Turned from the bridegroom's door. 

CXLII. 

He went like one that hath been stunned, 
And is of sense forlorn : 
A sadder and a wiser man, 
^25 He rose the morrow morn.^ 

* Would anything have been gained or lost by telling more of the life of the Ancient 
Mariner ? Why not end the poem with stanza cxl ? 

s What was the effect of the story upon the Wedding Guest ? Why this effect, rather 
than amazement and terror such as have characterized him before ? 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 

Note by the Author. — According to the mythology of the Romancers, 
the San Greal, or Holy Grail, was the cup out of which Jesus partook of 
the last supper with his disciples. It was brought into England by 
Joseph of Arimathea, and remained there, an object of pilgrimage and 
adoration, for many years in the keeping of his lineal descendants. It 
was incumbent upon those who had charge of it to he chaste in thought, 
word, and deed; but one of the keepers having broken this condition, 
the Holy Grail disappeared. From that time it was a favorite enterprise 
of the knights of Arthur's court to go in search of it. Sir Galahad was 
at last successful in finding it, as may be read in the seventeenth book of 
the Romance of King Arthur. Tennyson has made Sir Galahad the 
subject of one of the most exquisite of his poems. 

The plot (if I may give that name to anything so slight) of the follow- 
ing poem is my own, and, to serve its purposes, I have enlarged the 
circle of competition in search of the miraculous cup in such a manner 
as to include, not only other persons than the heroes of the Round Table, 
but also a period of time subsequent to the date of King Arthur's reign. 

PRELUDE TO PART FIRST 

Over his keys the musing organist/ 

Beginning doubtfully and far away,- 
First lets his fingers wander as they list, 

And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay: 
5 TheU;, as the touch of his loved instrument 

Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme, 
First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent 

Along the wavering vista of his dream. 

* The first stanza, though printed as a part of the Prelude to Part First, is really a 
little introduction to the whole poem. It gives the idea of the poet's reverie as he follows 
his thought without the rigidity of a fixed construction. 

* Far away from whom or what ? 



36 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 

Not only around our infancy 
10 Doth heaven with all its splendors lie; ^ 
Daily, with souls that cringe and plot, 
We Sinais climb and know it not ; - 

Over our manhood bend the skies ; ^ 
Against our fallen and traitor lives 
15 The great winds utter prophecies; 

With our faint hearts the mountain strives; 
Its arms outstretched, the druid * wood 

Waits with its benedicite; 
And to our age's drowsy blood 
20 Still shouts the inspiring sea. 

Earth ^ gets its price for what Earth gives us ; 

The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in. 
The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us, 

We bai:gain for the graves we lie in; 
25 At the Devil's booth are all things sold,® 
Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold; 

For a cap and bells our lives we pay. 
Bubbles we earn with a whole soul's tasking; 

'Tis heaven alone that is given away, 
30 'Tis only God may be had for the asking; 
There is no price set on the lavish summer. 
And June may be had by the poorest comer. 

1 The allusion is to Wordsworth's " Ode on the Intimations on Immortality," the 
first line of stanza v, "Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting." Line 20 probably 
refers to the last part of stanza ix of the same poem. Possibly line 21 may have been 
suggested as a comment on Wordsworth's " Earth fills her lap with treasures of her own.*' 
The student should read the ode. 

2 See Exodus xix, 3. Is Lowell's statement in these lines true ? 

3 Nature is more loyal to God than we. 

4 Where has Longfellow spoken of the forest as standing like Druids ? In poetry 
words are often more valuable for what they imply than for what they express. What 
is suggested by druid / 

^ Just what does Lowell mean by Earth ? 
" What is the emphatic word in this line ? 



THE VISIOX OF SIR LAUNFAL 37 

And what is so rare as a day in June ? ^ 
Then, if ever, come perfect days; 
35 Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, 
And over it softly her warm ear lays ; 
Whether we look, or whether we listen. 
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; 
Every clod feels a stir of might, 
40 An instinct within it that reaches and towers, 
And, grasping blindly above it for light. 
Climbs to a soul for grass and flowers; 
The flush of life may well be seen 
Thrilling back over hills and valleys; 
45 The cowslip startles in meadows green. 

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice. 
And there's never a leaf or a blade too mean 

To be some happy creature's palace; 
The little bird ^ sits at his door in the sun, 
50 Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, 
And lets his illumined being o'errun 

With the deluge of summer it receives; 
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, 
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings; 
55 He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest, — 
In the nice*'' ear of Nature which song is the best? 

Now is the high-tide of the year. 

And whatever of life hath ebbed away 
Comes flooding back, with a ripply cheer * 

Into every bare inlet and creek and bay; 
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it^, 
We are happy now because God so wills it ; 

1 In this description of June, what lines move most smoothly ? Notice how the first 
stanza of the description appeals to sight and the second to sound. 

■•^ Compare with the third, fourth, and fifth stanzas of Bryant's " Robert of Lincoln." 
3 In what sense is the word nice here used ? What answer does the question imply ? 
* Look up the exact significance of cheei\ 



60 



38 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 

No matter how barren the past may have been, 
^Tis enough for ns now that the leaves are green ; 
65 We sit in the warm shade and feel right well 
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell ; 
We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing 
That skies are clear and grass is growing; 



The breeze comes whispering in our ear 
70 That dandelions are blossoming near, 

That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, 

That the river is bluer than the sky. 

That the robin is plastering his house hard by; 

And if the breeze kept the good news back, 
75 For other couriers we should not lack; 

We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing, — 

And hark ! how clear bold chanticleer. 

Warmed with the new wine of the year. 

Tells all in his luty crowing ! ^ 

80 Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how ; 
Everything is happy now. 

Everything is upward striving; 
'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true 
As for the grass to be green or skies to be blue, — 
85 ^Tis the natural way of living: 

Who knows whither the clouds have fled? 

In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake; 
And the eyes forget the tears they have shed. 
The heart forgets its sorrow and ache; 
^0 The soul partakes the season's youth. 

And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe 

1 What is the effect of the changing movement of these lines ? How has Lowell 
secured his effects in this description — by the use of especially appropriate words, or by 
the selection of typical details ? 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 89 

Lie deep 'neatli a silence pure and smooth. 
Like burnt-out craters healed with snow, 
Wliat wonder if Sir Launfal ' now 
95 Remembered the keeping of his vow? 

PART FIRST- 
I. 

'^ My golden spurs ^ now bring to me. 

And bring to me my richest mail, 
For to-morroAV I go over land and sea 

In search of the Holy Grail; 
100 Shall never a bed for me be spread. 
Nor shall a pillow be under my head, 
Till I begin my vow to keep; 
Here on the rushes * will I sleep. 
And perchance there may come a vision true 
105 Ere day create the world anew." 

Slowly Sir Launf aFs eyes grew dim, 

Slumber fell like a cloud on him. 
And into his soul the vision flew.^ 



II. 

The crows flapped over by twos and threes, 
110 In the pool drowsed the cattle up to their knees, 
The little birds sang as if it were 
The one day of summer in all the year, 
And the very leaves seemed to sing on the trees: 

1 Why does Lowell begin to speak of Sir Launfal suddenly, without telling us who 
and what he was ? 

2 Show how this section sustains the spirit of the prelude. 

3 Golden spurs were the symbol of knighthood. When a knight disgraced himself 
his golden spurs were hacked oflf his heels by the cook's cleaver. 

* What is the significance of Sir LaunfaPs sleeping on the rushes ? 
6 What is the purpose of this appeal to sounds dying into silence at the close of the 
stanza ? 



40 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 

The castle alone in the landscape lay 
115 Like an outpost of winter, dull and gray; 

^Twas the proudest hall in the North Countree/ 

And never its gates might opened be, 

Save to lord or lady of high degree; 

Summer besieged it on every side,^ 
120 But the churlish stone her assaults defied; 

She ^ could not scale the chilly wall, 

Though round it for leagues her pavilions tall 

Stretched left and right, 

Over the hills and out of sight; 
125 Green and broad was every tent. 
And out of each a murmur went 

Till the breeze fell off at night. 

III. 

The drawbridge dropped with a surly clang,* 
And through the dark arch a charger sprang, 

130 Bearing Sir Launfal, the maiden knight, 
In his gilded mail, that flamed so bright 
It seemed the dark castle had gathered all 
Those shafts the fierce sun had shot over its wall 
In his siege of three hundred summers long, 

135 And binding them all in one blazing sheaf. 
Had cast them forth: so, young and strong. 
And lightsome as a locust leaf. 
Sir Launfal flashed forth in his unscarred mail. 
To seek in all climes for the Holy Grail. 

IV. 

140 It was morning on hill and stream and tree. 
And morning in the young knight's heart; 

1 What rhyme of " The Ancient Mariner " is here recalled ? 
^ What is the idea of this and the few following lines ? Cf. 11. 140-144. 
3 What other notable instances of personification do you find in the poem ? 
* Point out some good examples of alliteration in this stanza. 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 41 

Only the castle moodily 
Rebuffed the gifts of the sunshine free, 
And gloomed by itself apart; 
145 The season brimmed all other things up 
Full as the rain fills the pitcher-plant's cup. 



As Sir Launfal made morn through the darksome gate, 
He was 'ware of a leper ^ crouched by the same, 

Who begged with his hand and moaned as he sate; 
ISO And a loathing over Sir Launfal came; 

The sunshine went out of his soul with a thrill, 
The flesh 'neatli his armor did shrink and crawl, 

And midway its leap his heart stood still 
Like a frozen waterfall; 
155 j^or this man, so foul and bent of stature. 

Rasped harshly against his dainty nature. 

And seemed the one blot on the summer morn, — 

So he tossed him a piece of gold in scorn. 



VI. 

The leper raised not the gold from the dust: 
160 « Better to me the poor man's crust. 

Better the blessing of the poor. 

Though I turn me empty from his door; 

That is no true alms which the hand can hold; 

He gives nothing but worthless gold 
1G5 Who gives from a sense of duty ; - 

But he who gives a slender mite,^ 

And gives to that which is out of sight, 

* How did Christ once receive a leper ? 

2 Do the gloomy castle and the brilliant Sir Launfal stand for the same thing in the 
poet's mind ? 

* What biblical story Is here suggested? 



42 THE VISION" OF SIR LAUNFAL 

That thread of the all-sustaining Beauty 
Which runs through all and dotli all unite, — 
170 The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms. 
The heart outstretches its eager palms, 
For a god goes with it and makes it store 
To the soul that was starvino- in darkness before/ 



PRELUDE TO PART SECOND ^ 

Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak,- 
175 From the snow five thousand summers ' old ; 

On open wold and hill-top hleak 
It had gathered all the cold. 

And whirled it like sleet on the wanderers cheek; 

It carried a shiver everywhere 
180 ]?rom the unleafed boughs and pastures bare; 

The little brook heard it and built a roof 

'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof; 

All night by the white stars' frosty gleams 

He groined * his arches and matched his beams ; 
1S5 Slender and clear were his crystal spars 

As the lashes of light that trim the stars; 

He sculptured every summer delight 

In his halls and chambers out of sight; 

Sometimes his tinkling waters slipt 
190 Down through a frost-leaved forest-crypt,^ 

Long, sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees 

Bending to counterfeit a breeze ; 

» What different reason for introducing second prelude ? "Which prelude is the 
more beautiful ? Which the more suggestive ? Which season do you imagine the poet 
preferred ? 

a Compare this description of winter with that in Whittier's "Snowbound." The 
student will be interested in reading LowelFs essay, " A Good Word for Winter." 

3 Why summers instead of winters? 

* See the illustrations in the dictionaries. 

' Cr^t because it was down underneath, as if in a cellar; forest because the ice froze 
in form of trees. 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 43 

Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew 

But silvery mosses that downward grew; 
195 Sometimes it was carved in sharp relief 

With quaint arabesques of ice-fern leaf; 

Sometimes it was simply smooth and clear 

For the gladness of heaven to shine through, and here 

He had caught the nodding bulrush-tops 
200 And hung them thickly with diamond drops, 

Which crystalled the beams of moon and sun, 

And made a star of every one : 

No mortal builder's most rare device 

Could match this winter-palace of ice; 
205 'Twas as if every image that mirrored lay 

In his depths serene through the summer day. 

Each flitting shadow of earth and sky. 
Lest the hapi)y model should be lost. 

Had been mimicked in fairy masonry 
210 By the elfin builders of the frost. 

Within the hall are song and laughter,^ 

The cheeks of Christmas glow red and jolly. 
And sprouting is every corbel and rafter 

With the lightsome green of ivy and holly; 
215 Through the deep gulf of the chimney wide 
Wallows the Yule-log's roaring tide; 
The broad flame-pennons droop and flap 

And belly and tug as a flag in the wind; 
Like a locust shrills the imprisoned sap, 
220 Hunted to death in its galleries blind; 
And swift little troops of silent sparks, 

Now pausing, now scattering away as in fear. 
Go threading the soot-forest's tangled darks 

Like herds of startled deer. 

» study the details of this picture and then deecribe it. What word in the Btanza 
first shows the change in Sir Lannfal ? 



44: THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 

225 But the wind without was eager and sharp, 
Of Sir Launfal's gray hair it makes a harjj/ 
And rattles and wrings 
The icy strings. 
Singing, in dreary monotone, 
230 A Christmas carol of its own. 

Whose burden still, as he might guess, 
Was — " Shelterless, shelterless, shelterless ! " 
The voice of the seneschal flared like a torch 
As he shouted the wanderer away from the porch, 
235 And he sat down in the gateway and saw all night - 
The great hall-fire, so cheery and bold, 
Through the window-slits of the castle old. 
Build out its piers of ruddy light 
Against the drift of the cold.^ 

PAET SECOND 

I. 

240 There was never a leaf on bush or tree, 

The bare boughs rattled shudderingly ; 

The river was dumb and could not speak. 
For the frost's swift shuttles its shroud had spun ; ** 

A single crow on the tree-top bleak ^ 
245 From his shining feathers shed off the cold sun; 

Again it was morning, but shrunk and cold. 

As if her veins were sapless and old. 

And she rose up decrepitly 

For a last dim look at earth and sea. 

1 Is the figure beginning in this line especially good ? especially appropriate ? 
Would the poem have gained or lost by its omission ? 

2 Scan the line. 

3 What is the most picturesque word in this stanza ? 

* In another edition this line is given, " For the weaver Winter its shroud had spun."' 
Which reading do you prefer, and why ? 

6 With what preceding line may we contrast this ? Why a single crow? 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 45 



II. 



250 Sir Lauiii'al turned from his own hard gate/ 
For another heir in his earldom sate ; 
An old, bent man, worn out and frail, 
He came back from seeking the Holy Grail; 
Little he recked of his earldom's loss, 
155 ^o more on his surcoat was blazoned the cross, 
But deep in his soul the sign he wore. 
The badge of the suffering and the poor. 



9nfi 



III. 



Sir LaunfaFs raiment thin and spare 
Was idle mail gainst the barbed air, 

"60 For it was just at the Christmas-time; 

So he mused,- as he sat, of a sunnier clime, 
And sought for a shelter from cold and snow 
In the light and warmth of long ago ; 
He sees the snake-like caravan crawl 

205 O'er the edge of the desert, black and small, 
Then nearer and nearer, till, one by one, 
He can count the camels in the sun. 
As over the red-hot sands they pass 
To where, in its slender necklace of grass, 

270 The little spring laughed and leapt in the shade 
And with its own self like an infant played. 
And waved its signal of palms. 



IV. 

?> 3 



" For Christ's sweet sake, I beg an alms ; 
The happy camels may reach the spring, 
275 But Sir Launfal sees naught save the grewsome thing, 

1 With what preceding picture may we contrast the one Bhown in this stanza ? 
a What different purposes are served by this reverie ? 
8 Who is the speaker ? Is alms singular or plural ? 



4cQ THE VISION OF SIK LAUNFAL 

The leper, lank as the rain-blanched bone/ 
That cowered beside him, a thing as lone 
And white as the ice-isles of Northern seas, 
In the desolate horror of his disease. 

V. 

280 And Sir Launfal said,—" I behold in thee 
^ An image of Him who died on the tree; 

Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns, — 

Thou also hast had the world's buffets and scorns, — 

And to thy life w^re not denied 
285 The wounds in the hands and feet and side; 

Mild Mary's Son, acknowledge me ; - 

Behold, through him, I give to thee ! '^ ^ 

VI. 

Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes 
And looked at Sir Launfal, and straightway he 
290 Remembered in what a haughtier guise 
He had flung an alms to leprosie. 
When he caged * his young life up in gilded mail 
And set forth in search of the Holy Grail, 
The heart within him was ashes and dust. 
295 Pie parted in twain his single crust. 

He broke the ice on the streandet's brink, 
And gave the leper to eat and drink; 
^Twas a moldy crust of coarse brown bread, 
'Twas water out of a wooden bowl, — 
300 Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed. 

And ^twas red wine he drank with his thirsty soul. 

1 What different passages in "The Ancient Mariner '" are recalled by this line and 
by 11. 278, 281 f 

2 See Matthew x. 32. 

3 See Matthew xxv. 40. 

4 Why is caged especially well chosen ? 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 47 



VII. 



As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face, 
A light shone round about the place; 
The leper no longer crouched at his side, 
305 But stood before him glorified, 

Shining and tall and fair and straight ^ 

As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate, 

Himself the Gate ^ whereby men can 

Enter the temple of God in Man. 



VIII. 

310 His words were shed softer ■* than leaves from the pine. 
And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine. 
Which mingle their softness and quiet in one 
With the shaggy unrest they float down upon ; 
And the voice that was calmer than silence said. 

315 " Lo, it is I, be not afraid ! ^ 
In many climes, without avail. 
Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail ; 
Behold it is here, — this cup which thou 
Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now ; 

320 This crust is my body broken for thee. 

This water His blood that died on the tree ; ^ 
The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, 
In whatso we share with another's need, — 
Not that which we give, but what we share, — 

3-5 For the gift without the giver is bare ; 

1 What is the effect in this line of the repetition of and ? 

2 Acts III, 2. 

3 John X, 9. 

4 Is this word better than calmer^ the reading of an another edition ? Why ? 

6 " Disease, poverty, death, sorrow, all come to us with unbenign countenances; but 
from one after another the mask falls off, and we behold faces which retain the glory 
and calm of having looked in the face of God." Letters, I, 78. 

8 The student must here recall the belief that the bread and wine of the Holy Sac- 
rament became the actual body and blood of Christ. 



48 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 

Who bestows himself with his alms feeds three, — 
Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me.'' ^ 

IX. 

Sir Launfal awoke, as from a swoimd : — ^ 
" The Grail in my castle here is found ! 
330 Hang my idle armor up on the wall, 
Let it be the spider's banquet-hall ; 
He must be fenced with stronger mail 
Who would seek and find the Holy Grail." 

X. 

The castle-gate stands open now, 
335 And the wanderer is welcome to the hall 

As the hangbird is to the elm-tree bough ; 
No longer scowl the turrets tall, 

The Summer's long siege at last is o'er; 

When the first poor outcast went in at the door, 
340 She entered with him in disguise. 

And mastered the fortress by surprise ; 

There is no spot she loves so well on ground, 

She lingers and smiles there the whole year round; 

The meanest serf on Sir Launfal's land 
345 Has hall and bower ^ at his command ; 

And there's no poor man in the North Countree 

But is lord of the earldom as much as he.* 

1 With this compare Leigh Hunt's little poem " Abou Ben Adhem." 

2 To what preceding line does the story return ? Where, in " The Ancient Mariner," 
do we notice a similar device ? 

"Mr. Lowell told me that since boyhood he had been subject to visions, which 
appeared usually in the evening. Commonly he saw a figure in medijeval costume which 
kept on one side of him. The last vision he had was while staying at an English country 
house. After dinner, in the drawing-room he saw a figure in the dress of a mediaeval 
scholar. The form was very distinct. It beckoned to him ; and, determined to see 
where it would go, he followed it out on the terrace, where of a sudden it disappeared." 
Note by Dr. S. W. Mitchell, quoted in Letters, II, 371. 

3 Hall and bower is one of the old ballad phrases : just what is meant by each word. 
* What is gained by ending the poem with a ballad note ? 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 49 



THE SEAECH 

Compare carefully with the * ' Vision of Sir Laiinfal " these lines written 
about a year before. Show how the two poems develop the same central 
thought. What part of "Sir Launfal" is most closely paralleled by 
"The Search"? 

I went to seek for Christ, 
And [N'ature seemed so fair 
That first the woods and fields my youth enticed, 
And I was sure to find him there : 
5 The temple I forsook, 

And to the solitude 
Allegiance paid ; but Winter came and shook 

The crown and purple from my wood; 
His snows, like desert sands, with scornful drift, 
10 Besieged the columned aisle and palace-gate; 
My Thebes, cut deep with many a solemn rift. 

But epitaphed her own sepulchred state : 
Then I remembered whom I went to seek. 
And blessed blunt Winter for his counsel bleak. 

15 Back to the world I turned. 

For Christ, I said, is King; 
So the cramped alley and the hut I spurned, 
As far beneath his sojourning : 

Mid power and wealth I sought, 
20 But found no trace of him, 

And all the costly offerings I had brought 
With sudden rust and mould grew dim : 
I found his tomb, indeed, where, by their laws. 
All must on stated days themselves imprison, 
25 Mocking with bread a dead creed's grinning jaws. 
Witless how long the life had thence arisen ; 
Due sacrifice to this they set apart. 
Prizing it more than Christ's own living heart. 



60 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 

So from iny feet the dust 
^^ Of the proud World I shook ; 

Then came dear Love and shared with me his crust. 
And half my sorrow's burden took. 
After the World's soft bed. 
Its rich and dainty fare, 
35 Like down seemed Love's coarse pillow to my head. 
His cheap food seemed as manna rare; 
Fresh-trodden prints of bare and bleeding feet. 
Turned to the heedless city whence I came. 
Hard by I saw, and springs of worship sweet 
40 Gushed from my cleft heart smitten by the same; 
Love looked me in the face and spake no words. 
But straight I knew those footprints were the Lord's. 

I followed where they led. 
And in a hovel rude, 
45 With naught to fence the weather from his head. 
The King I sought for meekly stood; 
A naked, hungry child 
Clung round his gracious knee, 
And a poor hunted slave looked up and smiled 
50 To bless the smile that set him free; 
New miracles I saw his presence do, — 

No more I knew the hovel bare and poor, 
The gathered chips into a woodpile grew, 

The broken morsel swelled to goodly store ; 
55 I knelt and wept : my Christ no more I seek. 
His throne is with the outcast and the weak. 



STANDARD LITERATURE SERIES 

TITLES SHOWING QRADINQ 



AMERICAN HISTORY 

*Deerslayer (Cooper), No. 8 For 5th and 6th Years. 

Dutchman's Fireside (Paulding), No. 44 For 6th and 7th Years. 

*Grandfather's Chair (Hawthorne), No. 46 For 6th Year. 

*Horse-Shoe Robinson (Kennedy), No. 10 For 6th and 7th Years. 

Knickerbocker Stories (Irving-), No. 23 For 7th and 8th Y'ears. 

*Last of the Mohicans (Cooper), No. 29 For 7th Year. 

*Pilot (Cooper). No. 3 For 6th and 7th Years. 

Spy (Cooper), No. 1 For 6th and 7th Years. 

* Water Witch (Cooper). No. 27 For 7th Year. 

*Westward Ho! (Kingsley), No. 33 For 7th and 8th Years. 

*Yemassee (Simms), No. 32 For 7th and 8th Y'ears. 

ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH HISTORY 

*Harokl (Bulwer-Lytton). No. 12 For 8th Year. 

*Ivanhoe (Scott), No. 24 For 7th Year. 

*Kenil worth (Scott), No. 7 For 6th and 7th Years. 

Rob Roy (Scott), No. 3 For 6th and 7th Years. 

Tales of a Grandfather (Scott), No. 28 For 6th Year. 

* Waverley (Scott), No. 50 For 6th and 7th Years. 

FRENCH, SPANISH AND ROMAN HISTORY 

Alhambra (Irving), No. 4 For 6th and 7th Years. 

*Last Days of Pompeii (Bulwer-Lytton), No. 38 For 7th Year, 

*Ninety-Three (Hugo), No. 18 For 7th Year. 

*Peasant and Prince (Martineau), No. 41 For 6th and 7th Years. 

*Tale of Two Cities (Dickens), No. 60 For 6th and 7th Years. 

FOR PRIMARY GRADES 

Fairy Tales (For Second School Year), No. 39 For 2d Year. 

Grimm's Best Stories, No. 55 For 3d and 4th Years. 

Hans Andersen's Best Stories, No. 52 For 3d Y^ear. 

Robinson Crusoe (Defoe), No. 25 For 3d and 4th Years. 

Swiss Family Robinson (Wyss), No. 35 For 4th Year. 

Wonder Book (Hawthorne) (4 Stories), No. 16 For 4th Yeac 



STANDARD LITERATURE SERIES 

FOR INTERMEDIATE AND GRAMMAR GRADES 

*Black Beauty (Sewall), No. 31 For 5th and 6th Years. 

Christmas Stories (Dickens), No. 5 For 5th and 6th Years. 

Gulliver's Travels (Swift), No. 13 For 6th and 7th Years. 

Little Nell (Dickens), No. 22 For 6th and 7th Years. 

Paul Dombey (Dickens), No. 14 For 6th and 7th Years. 

Pilgrim's Progress (Bunyan), No. 30 For 5th Year. 

*Round the World in Eighty Days (Verne), No 34. . For 5th Year. 

Snow Image (Hawthorne), No. 20 For 5th Year. 

Twice Told Tales (Hawthorne), No. 15 For 7th and 8th Years. 

*Two Years Before the Mast (Dana), No. 19 For 6th Year 

Young Marooners (Goulding), No. 57 . . .For 5th and 6th Years. 

FOR CRITICAL STUDY OF ENGLISH 
In Grammar and High Schools 

Ancient Mariner (Coleridge), and Vision of Sir \ t^ ■,^ rr, . 

Launfal (Lowell), No. 63 / ^ ^^^ ^®^^- 

^Courtship of Miles Standish and Other Poems [ ^^^^ Text 

(Longfellow), No. 47 \ 

*David Copperfield's Childhood (Dickens) No. 36. .Complete. 

Enoch Arden and Other Poems (Tennyson), No. 6. Full Text. 

Evangeline (Longfellow), No. 21 Full Text. 

*Five Great Authors, No. 42 Each Selection Complete. 

Garethand Lynette, etc. (Tennyson), No. 56 Three Complete Poems. 

Goldsmith, Gray, Burns and other Romantic Kq p,- p 

Poets of the Eighteenth Century, No. 48. . . ) ^^ Complete roems. 

Julius Caesar (Shakespeare), No. 51 Complete. 

Lay of the Last Minstrel (Scott), No. 40 Full Text. 

*Lady of the Lake (Scott), No. 9 Full Text. 

Macbeth (Shakespeare), No. 53 Complete. 

Merchant of Venice (Shakespeare), No. 49 Complete. 

Princess (Tennyson), No. 54 , Full Text. 

Prisoner of Chillon and Other Poems (Byron), No. 11. 

*Poems of Knightly Adventure, No. 26 Each Selection Complete. 

*Silas Marner (Eliot), No. 43 Complete. 

*Sir Roger de Coverley Papers, No. 59 Complete. 

Sketch Book, Part One, Stories (Irving), No. 17, 8 Complete Selections. 

Sketch Book, Part Two, Essays (Irving), No. 61, 7 Complete Selections. 

*Sketch Book, Combined (Irving), No. 62 15 Complete Selections. 

*Song of Hiawatha (Longfellow), No. 37 Full Text. 

Stories and Poems, by Poe, No. 58 10 Complete Selections 

* Vicar of Wakefield ((Goldsmith), No. 45. Complete. 

Vision of Sir Launfal (Lowell), and Ancient [ t7i,,ii rr>.^^ 
Mariner (Coleridge), No. 63 P ^^^ ^^^^- 



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